


A Perfect Sonnet

by Pixiestick_cc



Series: If You're Lonely Press Play Universe [8]
Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Family, Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Long-Term Relationship(s), Mild Sexual Content, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-02-16 22:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13063776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixiestick_cc/pseuds/Pixiestick_cc
Summary: Sometimes it takes a visit to your past to remember who you are.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set 3 years after 'The Decisions that Define Us'.

-But I guess I'll have to settle for a few brief moments  
And watch it all dissolve into a single second  
And try to write it down into a perfect sonnet  
Or one foolish line-

Bright Eyes

* * *

 

Like most evenings where they lived, it was calm and comfortable. Wirt was sitting outside, while Beatrice busied herself cleaning up after their meal. It was a task she never complained about and had done since learning her husband was a far better cook than she could ever hope to be. And due to their current circumstances, Wirt also had a very green thumb. If he did all the growing and preparation, the least she could do was show her appreciation by fixing the mess he left in their small, but still efficient kitchen.

Wiping her hands on her apron, Beatrice removed the added attire and walked outside to sit with Wirt. He acknowledged her presence with a turn of the head and smile, then focused his attention forward again. She knew he was listening intently to the world around him. He did this often. It was a part of who he was now.

Their shared comfortable silence reminded her of when he used to interrupt these moments between them with impromptu poetry. She missed those dramatic and awkward ways of his. It wasn’t exactly as if these parts of him had gone away. The gawky teen she’d met six years before still existed. Only now it was buried under layers of responsibility, and all those passions had been transferred to duties. “I miss your poetry,” she found herself saying. “You should try and write more. I haven’t seen you touch your typewriter in ages.” When he didn’t reply, Beatrice turned and saw his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

He ran a hand through his already mussed hair. “It’s not as if I don’t want to write, but sometimes I can’t concentrate. There are so many voices in my head now.”

She knew about the voices, but not his inability to write poetry because of them. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

His gaze met hers and he drew in a deep breath. “Don’t apologize. It is what it is.” Wirt then grabbed her hand, pulled it to his lips, and kissed her palm. “As long as I have you, all that other stuff is irrelevant.”

Beatrice’s heart twisted painfully. Wirt could always turn something dreadful for himself into a positive because of his love for her. He’d given up his world for hers so easily when it became apparent she couldn’t live in his. Saying goodbye to everything he knew had been justified because he couldn’t live without her. Even now his poetry- something he loved probably as much as her- was shrugged off easily.

Impulsively, Beatrice drew away as a half-formed idea played around inside her head. “What’re you doing?” Wirt asked, but by the time the question was out of his mouth, it was very apparent what she was doing. He was only inquiring out of shock.

All the confining fashion Beatrice had been forced to wear growing up wasn’t a problem out here in their isolation, and it took her only a few moments to remove most of her dress. “Maybe, you just need a little inspiration to get you back into the writing spirit,” she replied, letting her last piece of clothing fall to the grass.

Wirt stood, indecision written on his face. “N-not out here. The trees.” He caught Beatrice’s hand, attempting to lead her back inside their home.

_Not those damn trees again._

Beatrice rolled her eyes. Using his grip to her advantage, she yanked her arm back, bringing him along with it, and then swiftly placed a kiss on Wirt’s mouth. He didn’t put up much of a fight and in no time his resistance crumbled. Sensing her battle won, she took the hand that was already in hers and ran it over the curve of her bottom. Wirt moved his other hand into a similar position and she pushed her hips into his as their kiss became more passionate with opened mouths, but it all ended abruptly when Wirt stepped away. She pulled in a little breath of shock, instantly missing his warmth. “Wirt?”

“I want to look … for _inspiration_.” There was a gleam in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in quite some time and it made her laugh. Well, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her naked before. She watched as his gaze moved slowly from her face, down to her body, and then up again. “Like _Botticelli’s Venus_ … but with freckles,” he said when his eyes met hers again. Beatrice couldn’t be sure, but she thought she felt the sensation of a blush.

Wirt brought her back in for a kiss, murmuring, “I love you,” against her lips while gently guiding her to the ground. Grass prickled Beatrice's bare back as her red curls blended in with the green all around, and with quick hands, she helped Wirt shrug out of his trousers.

"I love you too," she repeated back to him as he nudged her legs apart and kneeled between them. Wirt leaned down, his mouth finding the sensitive spot just below her jaw. She released a happy sigh that transitioned into a moan and then her breath hitched, their bodies finally becoming one. She couldn't remember the last time it had been like this. Not necessarily the making love part- that still happened fairly regularly- but there was something different in his complete abandon this time, like they used to be in the beginning, before _everything_ changed. They were young again, foolish, and the world was open to all possibilities.

Beatrice wasn't aware of time as they moved, only in the slow building inside her core, and when Wirt finally fell down beside her, spent, she noted that they were glowing in the setting sun. He enveloped her in his arms, but curiosity got the better of Beatrice and pulling away just enough to look at him, she asked with a smile, “Was that _inspiring_ enough?”

“Very,” he chuckled, and then brushed his lips across her forehead.

Later, after they had both dressed and gone back inside, Beatrice felt a strong sense of satisfaction when she saw Wirt go to his writing desk. “What are you doing?” she asked as if she didn’t know.

“I suddenly have the urge to write poetry.” He winked, pulling out a sheet of paper and threading it into his typewriter.

* * *

 

“H-how, how did this happen?”

“I think you know perfectly well how this happened.” It wasn’t an angry tone, more teasing, more her usual self, more … like nothing was wrong.

But everything was wrong.

“N-not the mechanics of it, I just- we’re always so safe. This can’t- we can’t … I’m … tired.” Wirt attempted to sit, but more so fell to the ground, and placed his head between his legs, trying to control his breathing, while mumbling the word _no_ repeatedly. With his eyes fixated on the grass beneath him (because it was easier than facing her), he watched the blades twist and turn from the invisible force that was his mood. His distress was affecting the nature around him as he failed at finding calm. All his old techniques- producing a peaceful image in his head, measuring his breathes in time with the slow beat of a once favorite song, reciting a poem- didn’t work in the face of what was happening. What would happen … in a little under nine months.

Beatrice was pregnant.

He didn’t have to think too deeply about the _when_ of it. Wirt remembered because it had felt so different. Everything about being with her that evening was perfect, and up until that moment, it was a memory he revisited often with happiness- of when he threw caution to the wind and they’d made love outside. There had been comfort in them being together like there wasn’t anything weighing him down; like it had been before.

Now that moment brought him to a very different place, and he couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt so stressed. It had been years. Even with the dangers he and Beatrice faced on a nearly daily basis, Wirt still had faith in the future because she was always at his side. Beatrice was his strength. But now the person he leaned on most wasn’t going to be able to perform her part. And the danger that was always just off in the periphery would only encroach on them more … on the three they soon would be.

With a preoccupied mind keeping him lost in a flurry of worst-case scenarios, Wirt didn’t sense her presence when she settled in beside him. “You’re being a bit dramatic, Wirt … even for _you_.” Another tease. How could she be so calm, so ... the world isn’t ending?

He lifted his head slowly. A gentle breeze hit his face and it felt comforting. Turning to look at Beatrice, Wirt saw an expression full of love and compassion, and it slowed his accelerated heartbeat. Finally, words were able to form in his head again. “Beatrice,” he whispered her name like a caress, staring into her pale blue eyes. The longer he gazed, the more he could see and feel variances in her composed presence. There was an edge of worry behind her love, but it wasn’t for herself, or the predicament they were in. It was for him.

“Wirt, why are you taking this so hard? It’s a little … unsettling.” He could see she was trying her hardest to keep up appearances, to be unaffected, but a pout began to form on her lips. Beatrice had always been the stronger one, but they also fed off each other, and if he broke, she didn’t always come out unscathed.

His reaction to her pregnancy announcement had been selfish, and that wasn’t fair. He needed to pull himself together because she didn’t deserve another burden put upon her. Beatrice was already carrying his child, and him falling to pieces over it, served only to feed his self-loathing. As hard as it was to find the courage to move past his all-encompassing fear, she needed his support.

But he wouldn't lie either. They’d made a promise years ago never to keep secrets from each other, and reminding himself of this, Wirt confessed, “You’re the only reason I’m able to do any of ...” he gestured around with his hands at nothing in particular, “ _this_. Our complicated life, it’s a ... a combined effort, and I’m worried that I can’t be strong for you … f-for another.”

Beatrice’s pout twisted until it resembled something short of a sympathetic smile, and cupping his cheeks, she pulled his face in closer to hers. “I’m still the same person, you dummy.” Her insult was a word carried over from when they were younger. It had stuck even as they progressed into adulthood, and he took it in stride. She just had a funny way of showing affection. “I don’t think there’s anything that could change me from who I am. Even if I do get larger, and more cranky, it’ll still be me- the same me that married you and is willing to take on any threat to our not-so-common life. No one’s going to mess with us as long as I’m here. And you can bet I will fight tooth and nail before I let anything harm you or our baby ...”

Her words trailed away as she focused on the world around them. The trees of the forest were still, but Wirt could sense their spirits moving and communicating, and he knew because of her connection to him, Beatrice could too. Eventually, her eyes darted back in his direction. A red curl loosened from her bun and blew in front of her face. Wirt brushed the strand behind her ear and she smiled. “You’re an amazing person,” she continued. “And you’ve taken the role of caretaker on so selflessly. You didn’t have to. Someone else would have eventually come along. But you did it because you knew it was right, and it’s your kindness that inspires me. It’s never been just me being strong for you. You’ve been _my_ strength, and together we can be strong for each other … for our baby.”

He sighed and leaned his forehead against hers. How was it she always knew exactly what he needed in moments of crisis, even when the crisis was about her? “I’m sorry I reacted so badly to this.”

Beatrice dropped her hands and took one of his to place over her abdomen. “I’m going to tell you a secret.”

Wirt pulled back but kept his hand on her. “I thought we didn’t keep secrets from each other.”

“I’ve only been keeping this one since yesterday; after I figured out what was going on with me.”

“Okay … what’s your secret?”

She pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth and gnawed the skin briefly. “Finding out about _this_ ,” Beatrice softly pressed his hand resting on her stomach, “was a shock to say the least, but honestly ... I'm beginning to think I don't mind so much. Once I realized this was my new reality- _our_ reality- I thought hard about how I really felt, and it came to me that I’ve always had a soft spot for kids. They’re a hell of a lot more entertaining than adults and they tell you exactly what they’re feeling- no lying to spare you pain. No whispering about you behind your back. Those little brats tell you straight to your face.”

Beatrice was smiling as she spoke, almost beaming, and he could see she meant every word. They’d never discussed having children before due to their circumstances. But it was so clear to him now- she wanted to be a mother. And really, what did it matter that their life wouldn’t foster the best environment for an infant; Wirt was going to have to face it because that was what his wife wanted.

And in that realization, an idea presented itself. Wirt could see only one way to ensure she survived the pregnancy and eventual birth of their child. “You’ll have to move in with your family.”

“What?” Beatrice shook her head, stunned. “But the forest, I’ve never left it for more than a week at a time. I can’t. The trees will-”

“Survive without you for a little while,” he finished for her. “I can take care of it, while you stay out of danger.”

Beatrice pursed her lips, and Wirt physically sensed her anger. “You’re not going to do this alone.”

“I have to,” he insisted. “You need to be where you’ll have support. Please, don’t be upset. I’m only thinking about your safety, and our baby’s too.” He spoke softly, trying not to patronize, but eager to calm the anger radiating from her.

“Stop reading my emotions. I can always tell when you’re doing it. You get that dumb face.” Beatrice stood and began walking towards their little house nestled amongst the trees, but Wirt caught up. He grasped her hand and thankfully she didn’t yank away.

“It’s not as if I can turn it off. It’s been happening for almost three years. You know I’m not intentionally prying.” 

She turned slowly on her heel to face him. “I do know, but it doesn’t mean I like it.” Her anger was wavering as another emotion took over. Guilt. “I’m sorry. I know you can’t control it. I’m just-”

“Pregnant,” Wirt finished for her, and she stopped short of a scowl, letting her eyebrows push together only for a moment before her irritation turned into humor.

“I suppose I can start using that excuse, but don’t think you’ll be able to write off every angry reaction I have by saying I’m pregnant. Knowing you, the majority of them will be justified. But … I am sorry for this one.”

Wirt took her remorse as an opening to gently push his idea again. “Will you please consider moving back home? Having your family nearby will give me peace of mind. I promise I’m not trying to trap you. I’m only trying to keep you safe. Don’t you want to see your family again, and tell Henry he's going to be an uncle? It's been nearly three months since we were last there.” At the mention of her youngest brother, Beatrice's guilt swelled like a balloon and Wirt internally groaned. “I didn't mean to make you- that is, I want this to be your decision. Only you can choose what we do in the end. I won’t push you- not that it would do any good. You never were one to do as I asked.” Wirt chuckled and his heart lightened at the sight of a smile- timid, but pure- forming on Beatrice’s face. “Just think about it, okay? In the meantime, we should both try and listen to the forest,” Wirt suggested, and Beatrice nodded in agreement.

It was the forest, after all, that would suffer if they left for a time. But if Beatrice didn’t leave to be with her family, Wirt had an ominous premonition that she wouldn’t survive.

* * *

 

Despite the unease that motivated her to walk outside, Beatrice felt only relief after escaping the bed she shared with Wirt. Truthfully, her sleep had been restless, and it was likely that whatever had pulled her awake wasn’t cause for alarm. But her conversation with Wirt earlier- of him wanting to send her away- rattled Beatrice’s confidence, and she moved into the dark night with a purpose, wanting to prove she was still the same person. She could still protect the forest alongside him. Pregnancy didn’t make her fragile.

But as she thought this, an unexpected wave of nausea swept over her.

_Oh, this again._

Only a few feet from the house, Beatrice bent forward and heaved the contents of her stomach all over a portion of Wirt’s flowerbed. Through the limited light of the moon, she saw it was the side containing daisies that were now covered in her vomit. When Wirt first planted them, he’d mentioned that they reminded him of her and their wedding- a time that hadn’t been all that long ago, but to Beatrice felt like another existence altogether. Back then Wirt had talked of their destiny, of some greater purpose they were meant for, but it was only talk. They were both nineteen. What nineteen year old could process what all that meant anyway? But she knew now. At twenty two, Beatrice had been through enough to grasp that a greater purpose meant a lot of sacrifices and plenty of selflessness.

A few months into their marriage, they had received word of The Woodman’s whereabouts. All of Wirt’s inquiries led them to the forest that they now called home. It was the same place her husband- then a gawky teen- had confronted The Beast. And it was also a forest in need of a new caretaker to keep away the constant threat of evil that wished to take advantage of those lost souls still trapped there. After The Woodsman had freed his daughter, he’d taken up the task of protecting the remaining trees, but by the time Beatrice and Wirt had reached him, he was dying, and his daughter begged them to take his place. Wirt had, after all, fought against evil before.

Shaking the memory from her mind, Beatrice realized then that it was almost the anniversary of their wedding and also the night they met … Halloween. Sometimes it was hard to remember the time of year in a forest with no seasons. Unless they ventured outside the massive wall of trees surrounding them, there was no sign at all that the world changed beyond night and day. There had been that one time it snowed, but cold was always an indicator that evil was nearby. She and Wirt inspected and then defeated the creature that was more undulating wisp of darkness than anything resembling an entity.

That past image of evil flashing inside her head reminded Beatrice of why she was standing outside in the first place, and turning away from Wirt’s flowerbed, she held out her hand. Staring intently at her extended fingers, she spoke words into the darkness, and a light blue flame the size of a fist appeared a few inches above her palm. Slowly, it grew orange around the edges, then orange bled into blue as the fire swelled, suspended in air. It didn’t radiate heat. Instead, the flame would serve as a light during her search for the cause of the noise.

The woods were calm as she moved around the house, and it convinced Beatrice that whatever had woken her, must have been a part of nature; nothing out of the ordinary to cause the trees distress ... except maybe a human walking among them in the middle of the night when she should be sleeping. Beatrice yawned. It had all been to prove a point to herself anyway. She didn’t need to be kept away from harm. She was what those causing harm feared. Three years of practicing witchcraft had given her an advantage over most evil. She was just as important as Wirt when it came to protecting the forest. It was _her_ destiny as well as his.

“Beatrice?!” The name was said in fear, coming from inside their home, and it startled her enough that the flame she held dissipated when her attention shifted suddenly.

“I’m here,” she called, and Wirt appeared in the doorway, looking distraught.

“What’re you doing?”

“I thought I heard a noise and came to investigate," she replied nonchalantly, like it wasn't out of the ordinary. But the truth was they usually did these things together.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” He approached swiftly and pulled her into his arms, his body trembling. “I woke up and thought something- something had happened. Something bad.” Wirt buried his face in her neck and she could feel the warmth of his breath trailing down her skin.

“I didn’t want to bother you.” It was a half-truth that in the face of his worry, caused guilt to build inside her- an emotion Wirt would no doubt feel. Beatrice had no way to lie, and shouldn’t anyway. “Wait, that’s not entirely true. I didn’t want to bother you because ... I wanted to prove to myself I could still take on any danger despite being pregnant.”

Wirt pulled away to face her, and even in the darkness, she could see his worry transform into disbelief. “Why would you do something so stupid?” he berated, and she bristled over his word choice. Impulsive or daring felt like a better fit.

It took some effort, but she kept her anger in check. Now wasn’t the time. Swallowing, Beatrice approached her husband’s incredulity with a soft-spoken honest reply. “You’re right. I _was_ being careless, but my pride was hurt. You don’t think I’m capable of taking care of the forest anymore, and there is always going to be that part of me that needs to prove myself when someone says I can’t do something. I shouldn’t have done it though.” Wirt’s frustrated look fell away, and he sighed but struggled to come up with a reply. “You don’t have to say anything,” she offered. “Let’s act like this didn’t happen.”

Beatrice moved past him and through the open door of their home. He trailed behind and joined her back in their bed. Neither spoke. Wirt was clearly rattled by her actions, and she felt the same confusion she had when he first suggested moving back home. Her need to protect him and do _their_ job, warred against his desire to keep the baby growing inside her safe. She rested her head against his chest, wondering if Wirt would be able to forget what she’d done, but assumed it was more likely her stunt had only made his resolve for them to leave stronger.

And then she thought- whispering to her in the darkness- the trees were attempting to communicate with her. Perhaps it was only her imagination. It sometimes felt that way. She didn’t have the same connection as Wirt. But still, it was enough for her to lift her head and say, “Okay, I’ll go home, as long as we visit your family first.” 


	2. Chapter 2

If almost three months had gone by since Beatrice last visited her family, the stretch of time was even longer since she’d climbed over the garden wall to see Wirt’s. Here in the forest, her husband had no problem confronting evil when it was attacking from the outside, but when that negativity resided within, he tended to falter. After his family- especially Greg- had started to complain that they were seeing him less and less, and then mentioned how different he seemed, the defensive Wirt from his early teens reemerged. “They just don’t understand. I can’t leave whenever I want. The forest needs me.”

“It needs us,” Beatrice had corrected him. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t make time for others when they need it.”

That was a little over six months ago when they’d gone back for her twenty second birthday. It was a visit she wanted to forget for the travesty of it all- but also forced herself to remember so she could prevent something like it from happening again- and hopefully, when Wirt was ready, he would make amends. And now that Beatrice had leverage, maybe that time would be soon. If Wirt wanted her to make a sacrifice for him, then she would ask for one in return. They would go back to his world and fix the mess they’d left behind.

When he didn’t respond right away, she took that as a good sign. Broaching this subject in the past had always resulted in Wirt refusing to talk about it, sulking for a few days and then acting as if she’d never even asked to go over the wall. “We can talk about it in the morning,” he finally replied, his voice impassive as if he were intentionally trying to keep emotion from bleeding into his response.

 _Ironic, considering he can so easily sense mine._  

Yet she wouldn’t tempt fate by pressing for an answer. Instead, Beatrice did what was always hardest for her; she gave in. “In the morning,” she repeated, wondering if it would even be possible to sleep now. Without him giving anything away in his voice, it was hard to tell what Wirt was thinking by just his expression, and she desperately wanted some indication that this time he would be receptive to going home. But she rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes anyway, somehow managing to drift away to the soft sound of Wirt breathing underneath her.

Much to Beatrice’s dismay, morning came without an answer. Wirt was quiet and Beatrice refrained from mentioning her request again, choosing instead to go outside after breakfast to find a bluebird. It had to be a bluebird because of course it did. That damn curse always found ways of reminding her it still existed in some form or another, and even though her wings had been clipped and scars removed years ago, the truth of her past still lingered. She assumed this was why birds were naturally drawn to her. It was a talent a younger Beatrice had viewed as a burden back when all she wanted was to forget her time as a bluebird. Now the rapport between human and bird was welcomed. They could be useful allies, and in a forest with only one other person for company, she saw them almost as kindred spirits. But there was a catch. After years of practicing magic and trying to communicate with nature the way Wirt did, it seemed only bluebirds were receptive.

It took a few attempts at calling, but eventually, a bird found her. “I have a favor to ask,” she said, leaning down to be at the same level as the bird perched on a rosebush branch. She could see it was male by the color of his feathers, and he cocked his head to the side, staring one dark inky eye at her. “I need a letter delivered to my family. Do you think you could do that for me?”

The bird tweeted a response that Beatrice understood to be his form of yes, although it might’ve also meant hungry as the two sounds were very similar. Reaching into her apron pocket, she retrieved the worm she’d coaxed from the ground earlier that morning along with an assortment of other insects and spiders. They were meant for potion making, but Beatrice held the worm out for the bird to take. It would be more willing to do her bidding on a full stomach. “Take it,” she offered and the bluebird happily obliged. “Now will you help me?” she asked, once the bird had eaten his fill. This time his tweet was a very clear yes. “I promise to have more treats for you when you get back, but you must give me proof that you were there.” She then pulled out a letter from the same pocket where she’d kept the bugs and shrugged at the sight of some insect guts smeared across the paper. _At least they’ll be sure it’s from me._ She told her new friend where to take the letter, and watched him fly away with it clutched in his claws.

Once the bluebird was out of sight, Beatrice chuckled to herself. The whole talking to birds thing sometimes made her feel a bit ridiculous, like a princess in one of those animated movies Greg used to watch with her.

_If he could see me now I wonder what he’d say?_

She’d most likely get a princess comparison, but Beatrice liked to think herself more in line with an evil queen. Fierce and cunning with a dash of frightening beauty. True, they could sometimes be overly dramatic with their attempted murder plots. Especially the one who had tried removing her rival with a poisoned apple, but she'd talked with a pet bird, hadn’t she? The memory remained firmly stuck in the back of Beatrice's mind and on a normal day being unable to recall some minor detail from a movie, would’ve been shrugged away. But this was different because it was a connection to Greg and if he were nearby she could ask, and then they could reminisce … together.

A sour feeling that for once wasn’t a result of morning sickness, roiled her stomach, and impulsively she pushed her thumb into a rose thorn. The self-inflicted wound offered a distraction that Beatrice indulged until she was forced to soothe the pierced skin between her lips. “That was stupid,” she mumbled against her thumb, but at least she no longer felt like vomiting. Although, the tears smarting her eyes were a bit more stubborn and stuck around.

“Hey.”

The soft-spoken greeting could only be from Wirt since it was just the two of them in the forest. And yet she still jumped.

“S-sorry,” he said as she quickly dabbed the corners of her eyes and turned around to face him. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Beatrice shrugged and continued to suck on the tiny slice in her skin. “Is your finger okay?” Wirt asked after a short pause.

“Fine,” she replied, lowering her hand. “Just pierced it on a thorn while talking to a bird.” A small smile played on Wirt’s lips, but Beatrice wouldn’t let him say the tease brewing in his mind. She wasn’t in the mood. “I was sending a letter to my parents. Told them we might be visiting soon.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and …” Beatrice hesitated, wondering if she would indulge this sudden reckless urge burning inside her. If she thought about it for too long her courage might wilt and she wasn’t willing to let go of this moment of bravery. Something had triggered inside her after thinking of Greg. There was no way to force Wirt’s hand, but she could make her own choices, regardless of his apprehension to go home. “Wirt, I’m going over the wall to see your family even if you don’t come with me. It’s been too long and I need to see them.”

Wirt’s brows knitted together and his teasing smile fell. “You make it sound like I’ve kept you from going.”

“Because I knew the implications of what going on my own meant. I didn’t want to harm this delicate line I walk with you, I don’t want to make you upset when you’re already dealing with so much.” She paused to pull in a breath and when she exhaled the sound of it was laced with far too much sadness for her liking. “You want me to go home for the good of our child, but I have to do what’s good for me. I need to see Greg, and your mom, and Ben, and Sara- if she’s even still around.” The thought of her friend having moved on brought tears back to Beatrice’s eyes and she turned away to stare at the rose bush again.

Being unable to keep her emotions from bubbling over bothered Beatrice more than it should have. What did it matter if Wirt saw the unchecked tears now streaming down her cheeks when her sadness was already radiating his way? But just like Wirt’s old habit of internalizing every negative experience, she still held onto childish notions that crying was a sign of weakness. It was a part of herself she would probably always struggle with.

When Beatrice suddenly felt Wirt move in from behind and snake his arms around her middle, she leaned back into his warm embrace. “I’m sorry I made you cry. I-I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to deal with this, to go- go back and-”

“I do,” Beatrice interrupted, slowly turning around to face him. “Our life is difficult, and you get the worst of it. Focusing your all on protecting the forest makes it easier to ignore other difficult things, especially when they’re so far away. I’ve always tried my hardest to be understanding of that, but ...” Her arms reached around his neck and she inched closer, “going over the wall … that’s something I have to do. For myself.”

Wirt was quiet as his eyes studied hers. “Can you just promise me one thing?” he finally said.

Beatrice swallowed before replying, “I’ll try.”

“That we won’t be visiting Jason Funderberker on this trip.”

She balked for a second before realization hit her. “Was that a joke? From _you_?”

Wirt chuckled and averted his eyes to gaze over her shoulder. “I have been known to make them. On occasion.” He appeared almost embarrassed, as if he was rethinking his attempt at humor, and it caused a smile to grow on Beatrice’s lips. This was the Wirt she melted for. The insecure nerd who told lame jokes and recited poetry. Well, the poetry part was lacking as of late, but maybe going home would spark something in him. Being away from the din of voices inside his head would definitely help.

“Well, dear husband,” Beatrice said, her smile twisting into a smirk. “You’ll be happy to know that going to see Funderberker will never be on my to-do list.”

Wirt glanced back at her. “Oh, that’s good to hear,” he said, returning her smile. “Remember when he and Colleen used to make out all the time?” His face contorted in disgust.

“Uh, I don’t think we were much better,” Beatrice reminded him with a pointed stare.

“At least we did our best to hide it.”

“Yeah, we did have some good times in your mom’s van,” Beatrice replied with a laugh, before swiftly bringing her mouth to his as a gesture back to those simpler times when hiding hickeys and reaching first base tended to be more important than anything else.

Wirt let out a soft groan of surprise but wasted no time in molding himself against her and deepening the kiss. He moved his hands to the base of her neck and threaded his fingers through her curls as his mood shifted away from the anxious Wirt he’d become after her pregnancy reveal, to the one he’d been a month before when their impulsiveness had resulted in her current state. Perhaps he was just glad that compromise was the key in getting her to spend nine months back home- a fact Beatrice still wasn’t happy about- but she tried to focus on the positive. Soon, they would go over the wall and fix the broken pieces left behind from their last visit.

* * *

 

“Ow!” Wirt glared at the bluebird refusing to let him get anywhere near the letter he’d just tried to take. “You didn’t have to bite me,” he griped.

“Who bit you?” Beatrice came rushing out of the house and kneeled next to Wirt, who had been gathering vegetables for dinner, before a menacing bird sidetracked his task.

“It’s nothing, just one of your _friends_ got a little aggressive when I tried to take something from him.” He motioned towards the bird standing in front of the letter he was now guarding from Wirt.

Beatrice’s eyebrows rose and she turned her head. “Oh, that was fast. I suppose you deserve two worms for being so prompt.” At the sound of her voice, the bird tweeted, grasped the letter in its claws, and then deposited it in Beatrice’s outstretched hand. “You’ll have to come inside with me,” she told the bird as it perched itself on her shoulder. “I was actually working on a new potion, but there are some worms left, and grubs if that’s what you’d like, although none quite as fresh as what I gave you before …” Beatrice continued to chit-chat with the bird, her words eventually becoming indistinct as she walked into the house, leaving Wirt behind.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine here alone. Hardly any blood at all,” he deadpanned and then grumbled to himself over how he’d been upstaged by a bird. When he finally caught up to them, she was in the kitchen and the bird was feasting on a meal that made Wirt blanch. Worms and bugs littered the counter he’d soon be using to prepare dinner. Usually, it was best not to complain about Beatrice’s dabbles in potion making, especially now since this one had something to do with curing her morning sickness, so he deposited his picked peppers onto the kitchen table and then snatched up the letter his wife had set next to her collection of bugs, herbs, and powders. Quickly, before she could notice, he snuck into their bedroom where little birds couldn’t bite him.

“Hey, thief!” Wirt heard Beatrice say as she entered the room moments later. He’d managed to finish reading the letter right before she plucked it from his hands. “That was for me, or did you not get the hint when Charlie bit you?”

“Actually, the letter was addressed to both of-,” Wirt began but stopped when he caught sight of Beatrice’s glare. “So, uh, who’s Charlie?” he asked after clearing his throat.

“Oh, the bluebird. I decided to name him,” Beatrice causally said, like it was an everyday occurrence for her to name birds. It wasn’t.

“So, you’re naming them now?”

“Just this one. He seemed like a Charlie to me. And anyway, he got this letter back to me faster than any of the others. Thought that deserved a sort of reward.”

“And a name is a reward?” He’d like to hear Charlie’s thoughts on this.

Beatrice sighed dramatically and sat down on the edge of their bed. “Or you know, something to make him feel special. Does it matter?”

“No, I uh, actually think it’s kind of cute,” Wirt admitted, one side of his mouth pulling up in a grin.

Beatrice rolled her eyes, since cute wasn’t necessarily a compliment to her. “And anyway, if I need his help again, all I have to do is call his name.”

“Seems like you’ve got this all figured out,” Wirt said as he sat down next to her. “Is he planning on going with you back to the mill? Do you have a bird sidekick now?” Beatrice didn’t respond to his joke. Her eyes were busy scanning the letter, and Wirt kept quiet until it was apparent she’d finished. “So, I uh, noticed your mom didn't mention you being pregnant,’” he said, taking the letter from her, and moving in closer.

Beatrice briefly nibbled her bottom lip as she thought of a reply. “Honestly, I didn’t want to deal with that headache right away, so I left that little detail out when I wrote my parents.”

“Why would it be a headache? Don’t all parents love getting that news? Well, I mean from their adult children. They probably wouldn’t have liked it if this happened four years ago. Actually, I’m pretty sure Andrew would’ve killed me.”

One of her shoulders lifted and fell. “Considering my lifestyle choices haven’t always matched up with what Mother considers proper, I’m not sure how she’ll take the news. It’s not hard to imagine a scenario where she tries her hardest to keep me under glass and away from witchcraft. But maybe I’ll just turn her into a toad and be done with it.”

Wirt’s forehead wrinkled in shock. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“No, I’m not serious,” Beatrice replied, affecting a voice that was meant to make his question sound stupid, and Wirt grimaced apologetically. “But I’d like a little more time to live in a world where everyone’s not trying to control me due to my _delicate_ state.”

“Do you think I’m trying to control you?” Wirt asked after a short pause. When she hesitated it made his chest tighten, and to relieve that feeling he reached out emotionally to find the answer she wasn’t saying.

“Stop it, Wirt,” Beatrice warned, releasing a long-suffering sigh.

“Sorry, I was doing the face, wasn’t I?”

Beatrice twisted her body to stare at him fully and pressed her forehead against his. “Yes, you were,” she grumbled, but the short kiss that followed told him his intrusion was easily forgiven. “I didn’t reply right away, because I don’t know how to give you an answer that won’t cause a rift between us. Sometimes it’s better not to say things even if it’s the truth.”

“So, you do think I’m trying to control you.”

When Beatrice chaffed, Wirt knew he’d said the wrong thing. “No, I don’t think that, but it’s not so black and white either, Wirt. It’s a big stormy gray that’s complicated by the life we lead. And right now I don’t want to get into it. I’d rather think of our upcoming trip over the wall and then the nine months I’ll be staying with my parents. I have a lot of packing to do, and unloading the complicated nature of who we are, well, there isn’t enough time at the moment.”

Wirt wanted to be satisfied with her response but hated that they were even at a place where he had to ask her opinion on such things. They’d always been honest with each other and she was being honest now in a way that wouldn’t work for him.

“You’re making that face.”

Wirt’s gaze had drifted to his hands, but it snapped back up at her accusation. “I am not. I wasn’t even trying to sense-” Beatrice’s chuckle rose above his voice.

“Not that one. The one where you’re overthinking something. You get that cute furrowed brow.” She moved her finger up between his eyes, repeating an action he often did with her when attempting to remove a sour look.

“Hey, if I’m not supposed to say cute, you can’t either,” Wirt playfully groused.

Beatrice let out a loud laugh that dissolved into giggles as she began to kiss him. “Sorry. Not going to happen,” she whispered against his lips

“Figures,” Wirt muttered, but then pulled away long enough to ask, “So are we okay?”

A large incredulous grin spread across her face. “Of course, you dummy. Just because there are some complications doesn’t mean that’s not normal. Love is messy, you should know that, you’ve certainly written enough poems about it. And we’ll figure this all out. Eventually. But, right now I’d rather ...”

She let her actions finish the sentence by pressing her mouth to his. Kissing him more forcefully this time, she grasped a handful of his shirt and jerked him down so that they were lying side by side. Then pulling him in closer, she draped one leg over his, which began a chain reaction of hard, hot kisses, that only stalled when his hand found her breast and she made a soft pained sound. It caused a warning to go off in Wirt’s brain, and he breathed, “What's wrong?"

Beatrice pulled away and looked at him, breathless, with annoyance in her eyes over the sudden halt of something she’d been greatly enjoying. “Oh, nothing. They're just sore. One of those wonderful side effects of pregnancy. Don't worry about it.” Her mouth went to reclaim his, but Wirt inched backwards, a sudden worry rushing through him.

“Wait. Can we- I mean, is it okay, or uh safe to …” A long drawn-out pause spread between them as Beatrice tried to understand what he meant, until Wirt sighed and bluntly asked, “Is it okay for the baby?” She answered with a laugh and a kiss, but Wirt still needed to know. “So, is it?”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “You know, sometimes it’s so easy to tell you were raised without much interaction with women.”

“Which means?”

“Cheese and crackers! Yes! It’s fine.” And then to drive her point home, Beatrice maneuvered her body until she was staring down at him. A passionate kiss that left his head swimming soon followed and when she pulled away- her hair falling down to tickle his face- she asked. “Now do you believe me?”

“Well, you’ve certainly made a compelling argument,” Wirt teased, tugging on a lock of red, before tucking it behind her ear. Then his hands traveled up her waist as his smirk faded and he said three familiar words. They’d been uttered to Beatrice many times before, and never once did he not mean them. “I love you.”

“I love you back,” she replied, her eyes shining as she leaned down to move her lips against his again.

And somewhere between the kissing and touching, Wirt had a fleeting thought about the peppers still on the table and came to the conclusion that he’d be making dinner a little later than usual that evening.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Sara will have a larger role in this story than she has in any of the others, I thought it was important to give her POV a voice.

Sara didn’t see the text at first. She’d collapsed on her dorm room bed after her last class at 5 p.m. Bleary-eyed, she woke hours later to the sounds of her roommate Amy opening the door. Sara knew it was late because the room was dark, but the strange thing was, it remained dark, even after Amy closed the door and sat down on her own bed across the room. When sounds of wet kisses and moaning suddenly mixed with mattress squeaks, her assumption that Amy had kept the lights off because she wanted to sleep flew out the window. Fully awake now, Sara bolted upright and said, “Uh, hey guys, sorry to ruin the fun, but you have company.”

The room instantly grew quiet, which was followed seconds later by a high pitched giggle that sounded a lot like Amy’s new girlfriend Tara.

“Sorry,” Amy said. She walked over and flicked the light switch on, then sat back down next to Tara, who was wearing a guilty smile while pulling up her bra strap. “When we came in and saw it dark, I just assumed you’d already left for the weekend. Guess I should’ve checked anyway, but we’re both pretty wasted so ...” She laughed, then after seeing Sara’s disapproving look, added, “And before you get all preachy, yes, we took an _Uber_.”

Far be it for her to judge others for underage drinking since Sara had done her fair share as a college freshman, but it was common knowledge among her friends that she was a stickler for making sure no one drove home drunk. Losing your mom to a drunk driver when you were only four did that to a person.

“Good,” Sara said, but then her eyes widened as realization suddenly flooded her. If Amy and her girlfriend were already drunk then that meant … she reached for her book bag near the foot of her bed. Pulling out her phone, she gasped at the time on the screen. “Eleven? It’s eleven. How the hell did I sleep so long? I was only going to power nap before driving home.”

A text on her phone from Colleen read: _Where are you? Thought we were going out tonight._

“Well, it _has_ been a long week. You broke up with Kale after finding out he screwed that girl. Crying always makes me tired too.”

“It was a rhetorical question, Amy,” Sara snapped, but quickly backtracked. Her roommate probably wouldn't have been so brusque if she wasn’t wasted. “I mean, yeah, you’re probably right, but I don’t even want to think about _the ex who shall not be named_ , right now. I just wanna get outta here.” Sara quickly began tossing items into a travel bag.

“Why stress yourself out? Just stay here this weekend. There’ll be plenty of Halloween parties. You can even hang out with Tara and me. We’re gonna dress up as super lesbian witches.” Amy playfully cackled at her girlfriend, who giggled before they both sloppily kissed.

“Tempting, but no,” Sara said, causing the two girls to pull apart. “Don’t want to be around a happy couple when I’m trying to forget my own failed love-life. And besides, I have that tradition, you know.”

“Ooh yeah, with your friends from high school. Graveyard waiting or whatever.”

Sara nodded as she dumped her bathroom supplies haphazardly into the bag. “Two of my friends who I don’t see that often come into town.”

_That is if they even show this year._

Sara shoved the negative thought from her mind. Even though there had been some tension the last time they were all together for Beatrice’s birthday, she knew in her heart that her friends would show up tomorrow. It was Halloween. Their holiday.

“Well, have fun,” Amy said as Sara went to leave. “Tell me if that missing dead girl’s ghost shows or whatever it is.”

“Sure,” Sara mumbled over her shoulder as the door closed and she raced down the stairs and into the parking lot. After reaching her car, she hopped into the front seat and texted Colleen: _Sorry, I overslept. Won’t be home till 12. If you still want to hang out give me a call and lmk if Beatrice or Wirt text you. I haven’t heard from them yet._

They wouldn’t text her, but Sara was trying to keep up the con that the happily married couple actually lived in rural Pennsylvania where cell service was sometimes spotty. That’s what Wirt always told everyone when he and Beatrice visited and others asked why he didn’t keep in touch. Sometimes she wished they did, but there weren’t exactly cell phones over on their side of the wall. If anyone would text her about Wirt, it would be Greg, who had recently been given his first phone. He’d let her know if his brother was back in town. But so far nothing. It was fine. They still had until Sunday.

A reply from Colleen popped up seconds after Sara sent hers: _Going to bed soon. Text me tomorrow so we can get together. Haven’t heard from Wirt but that’s not unusual._

Sara sent a thumbs up emoji and went to put her phone away, but stopped after seeing another missed text- one she probably should just delete. Unfortunately, despite her better judgment, she didn’t. Just two words- _I’m sorry-_ stared back at her from the screen.

“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” she grumbled sarcastically. That was a mess she wasn’t willing to deal with at the moment. Or maybe ever. When your boyfriend of two years decides he’d rather bang some random girl he met at a bar while you were studying for an important exam, it was better just to walk away. Sara wasn’t going to be _that_ girl. The naive kind that assumes a cheater won’t do it again. “We had some good times, Kale, but you can suuuuck it, asswipe.” She spoke the insult like a joke, but really it wasn’t that funny. In fact, she was still pretty upset.

Seeing her best friend and talking it over with her would definitely help. Sara could imagine Beatrice having a few choice words to say about Kale, and all of them would be far more biting than she could ever come up with. With a sigh, she started the engine, remembering all the times Beatrice had viciously gone off on someone over far less than cheating. It was her friend's temper that Sara needed at the moment. She just hoped Beatrice would bring that fire with her when she came over the wall.

_If she comes over the wall._

“Shut up, I’m trying to be positive here,” Sara told her pessimistic thoughts and then pulled out of her parking spot, ready to spend Halloween weekend visiting some old friends who she just knew _would_ show up.

When she arrived home a little over an hour later, her dad wasn’t around. There was a big case he was working on and during their phone conversation earlier that week, he mentioned how he’d been staying at his office late into the night. It wasn’t such an odd occurrence anyway and was one of the reasons she lived on campus even though home was only an hour away. Their house was empty most of the time and even when it wasn’t, her dad was usually in his study, working. Always working. And even though privacy was a hot commodity in the dorms, Sara didn’t mind, because the constant swirl of people kept her company. Rarely did she feel as alone on campus as she did when she came home. But hopefully this visit would be different since everyone was coming together again; maybe loneliness wouldn’t creep up on her like it usually did.

After quickly unpacking, Sara settled into her old bedroom that besides a thick layer of dust, hadn’t changed much since August when she’d left to start her junior year. Which meant memories of Kale were everywhere. In a hurry, Sara went to work removing cards, dried flowers and an assortment of other items that to an onlooker wouldn’t seem so important. To her though, they represented a two year relationship that had ended badly. She didn’t want to brood over Kale or any of the nice things he’d done for her out of love when it all was easily erased in one night. But hiding his mementos away didn’t help, and before she could rein in her emotions, tears filled her eyes. Amy was right, crying did make you tired, and after spending the better part of an hour sobbing into her pillow, Sara managed to fall asleep, even though she’d already spent most of her evening napping.

In the morning, Sara woke to see her dad’s car in the driveway, and the door to his bedroom closed. She didn’t bother waking him to say hello, and after getting ready for the day decided to take an impromptu trip to the cemetery before meeting Colleen for breakfast. She’d be there the next night with Colleen and Jason and a few others, but loneliness over her break-up and missing her friends drew Sara through the _Eternal Gardens_ archway and past the graves to eventually find the garden wall. She stared at it for a long time, before sensing the presence of someone nearby. Turning her head, Sara smiled when she saw the cemetery caretaker removing some dead flowers from a grave. “Hey, Marty.” She waved.

He mumbled a greeting, looking tired and old, and it made her wonder how long he’d be at this job. Marty had always seemed ancient, although he’d thankfully become less of a jerk the older he got. This could mostly be attributed to Beatrice, who for some reason had formed a friendship with him. It was something Sara used to joke about- how two grouchy old souls had found each other- and at that moment she felt a pang in her chest for her friend. “How’s it going?” she asked Marty, forcing her sad thoughts away. “Ready to shoo off the kids tomorrow night?”

“I’m sure you’ll be with them. Every year you are.” His voice was annoyed, but deep down she knew he didn’t care anymore.

“Sure am. It’s tradition.”

“What about your friends?” He fidgeted with the dead flowers in his pale, wrinkled hands, causing some brittle petals to break and flutter to the ground. “Haven’t seen them in a while.”

It was obvious to Sara what friends he meant; the same ones she was anxious to see. “I’m hoping they’ll visit, but their life is so complicated right now. Wirt tried to explain it to me last time he was here. Sounds like it’s pretty heavy stuff.” She briefly recalled Beatrice’s birthday when Wirt hadn’t exactly _explained_ more than had a meltdown over how no one understood how difficult his life was.

Marty nodded. “I get it. Magic and all. Dangerous stuff sometimes.”

“Yeah, magic,” Sara replied, glancing away, suddenly feeling weird for talking about this with Marty, like they were in a fantasy novel. An awkward silence soon spread between them, that she finally felt forced to break. “Well, I’ll make sure to tell them to stop by and say hello if they do visit.”

The caretaker responded to this news with a wide smile that exposed some of his missing teeth. “Would ya do that? I miss that little spitfire. She always knew how to put someone in their place. It was fun to watch.” He laughed and Sara chuckled.

“Beatrice sure isn't shy about standing up for herself and her friends.”

“Yeah, some kids were callin’ me names once. She chased them down and gave ‘em a good scare.”

Another uneasy quiet surrounded them before Sara decided it was time to go. She didn’t want to stand Colleen up twice. “Okay well bye, Marty. See you tomorrow, maybe.”

“Bye uh …” He pointed at her, his bushy eyebrows furrowing. “Ssssara. Yeah, Sara,” he said finally, remembering her name for once.

Leaving the caretaker behind, Sara hurried towards the arched entryway but stopped just before reaching it to turn around and stare at the wall one last time. “Your asses better be here by tomorrow,” she mumbled under her breath and then snorted because that was exactly something Beatrice would say.


	4. Chapter 4

Kneeling on the earth, Beatrice sprinkled the ash she’d gathered earlier from the fireplace, into tiny separate circles around three leftovers worms from her potion making that morning. These three were lucky enough to escape her potion pot and just might live to see another day if they survived her spell attempt. With closed eyes, she tried to remember the words- just five that weren’t from any language she knew- and hoped she could pronounce them correctly. Then focusing on a place in her mind, a rosebush bloomed behind her eyelids similar to the real one planted a few feet away, and Beatrice repeated the spell three times. Her heart fluttered in excitement as she opened her eyes and saw all three worms had vanished. But her high was soon replaced with chagrin after she discovered only two had made it to their rosebush destination. The other must've ended up somewhere else. As to where that was, she had no idea. “Hmmm, guess one of you wasn’t so lucky after all.”

Still, she’d moved two to their intended place. Two was great for a first try, but not enough for her to show Wirt. With a little more practice though, maybe she’d have it mastered by the time they left in the morning.

“Are you digging for more worms? I thought you already packed up your potion stuff for the trip.”

Beatrice jerked upright and whipped her head to the side to stare at Wirt. “Stop sneaking up on me!” she griped, pushing his legs in irritation. Wirt wobbled a bit, but not enough to make him fall. That action had been an exaggeration played for laughs and she was unable to hold back a soft giggle. “You're so dramatic. I didn’t hit you that hard.”

“What can I say, I’m a pushover.” Wirt shrugged and scooted in next to her.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing that thing, that meditation stuff?” When Wirt communicated with the trees it seemed to pull him in for long stretches at a time, which was why she’d snuck off to practice her spell.

“Meditation, huh?” he said. “That’s one way of putting it.” Absently his fingers brushed against a rose and it responded by growing a few extra petals.

“What? They weren’t so chatty this time?” Beatrice joked, but Wirt didn’t appear amused.

“No, they were. I just ... it got to be too much. Their distress seems amplified by us leaving tomorrow.” He briefly frowned and the newly grown rose petals shivered and fell, covering one of Beatrice’s worms.

“Did you explain about my spells, the new protective ones I’ve been practicing?”

“Yeah, it’s just ...” Wirt sighed. “Two weeks-”

“Wirt, you promised me one week in your world and one week at my parents before we’re forced to separate,” Beatrice reminded him gently, not wanting to start an argument but anxious to remind him of their agreed compromise. “It’s the least you can do for sending me away.”

He appeared torn, like he wanted to protest, and his lips formed a grim line. But whatever argument was formulating inside his mind stayed there; Wirt let go of the rose and looked at her. “So, what’s up with the worms?” he asked, the heaviness in his voice receding as he tried a lighter topic. Although for Beatrice it wasn’t so trivial.

“I’m trying a new spell.”

“New?”

“Well, not so much new as untried.” Beatrice looked down and fidgeted with the material of her apron. “It’s from my original spell book.” When he didn’t respond, she glanced up to see his frown had returned, and quickly went into an explanation as to why she was doing something he disagreed with. That book had caused too many headaches for them in the past and whenever she brought it out a battle of wills always ensued. “It’s the transportation spell, moving things. I thought it might help with traveling. Or when we’re separated it could help us see each other more.”

Wirt shook his head and a few brown locks fell in front of his eyes. He ran a hand through them until they were back to sticking up every which way. “Shall we go over the stats again? About how often new spells work for you. Not to mention the difficult ones. Especially ones from _that_ book. And I seem to recall a question mark being written into the margins of that particular spell. Whoever owned it before you couldn’t even get it to work.” Wirt’s condescending tone sounded like her mother’s, and Beatrice scowled.

“That question mark could mean anything,” she huffed.

Wirt looked exasperated and Beatrice rolled her eyes. They’d been at this impasse before and typically she let the subject drop after a few minutes of arguing. “You’re right,” she finally admitted.

“I-I am?”

Beatrice chuckled at the surprise in his voice. It was the first time she’d conceded fully about this issue, when before it had always ended with some flippant retort from her. “Right in the sense that I shouldn’t use this spell for when we travel. I’m not ready yet. But I’m going to keep working at it.” Wirt’s look of shock transitioned into one of annoyed acceptance, a face he used often with her. “But let me involve you in it,” Beatrice suggested, pulling his hand into hers. “Let me show you what I can do.”

“You’re not going to try and transport me, and then you know, I’ll end up somewhere without an arm,” he replied sardonically.

Beatrice narrowed her gaze but didn’t respond to his jab. “Here.” She cradled Wirt’s hand until his palm was facing upward. “Now hold still.”

He sighed her name, sounding reluctant.

“No, trust me. I know what I’m doing.” She tried to invoke an air of competence and began circling ash from her apron pocket around the worm not currently covered by rose petals, then repeated the spell. Only this time the worm’s destination was different and when Wirt blanched seconds later she nearly squealed in delight.

“Gross,” he muttered and let the worm drop from his palm to the ground.

“Gross? That’s all you can say?” Beatrice harrumphed.

“Well, gross, because it’s a worm, but also, nice, I guess. That was pretty impressive. Still not enough to want you to use that spell on me. I’d like to keep my limbs attached for the time being.” Wirt smirked and despite not wanting to give him the benefit of finding him amusing, she grinned anyway.

“Just watch it or I might transport your mouth somewhere else to keep you from saying dumb jokes like that,” she playfully threatened.

“Well, then how would I kiss you?” Wirt quipped back. “Seems like you’d lose too much and gain very little if you did that.”

Beatrice grumbled but admitted defeat. “That’s true. Your mouth is too valuable. It’s very talented and does many good things on me. I’d probably miss it too much.”

Wirt blushed and Beatrice smiled smugly. It seemed she’d won this round after all since seeing him flustered would always be at the top of her list of things she enjoyed in life. Leaning forward, she slowly traced her fingers along his jawline, feeling the stubble of a few days, before guiding his mouth to hers. The kiss was a tease, soft and short that intentionally left her husband wanting more.

“Where are you going?” he asked with a frown after she pulled from him and stood.

“I need to find some worms for Charlie. He’s coming for a visit later. Wants to say goodbye before we leave.”

“What about these?” Wirt asked, pointing at the two still wriggling in the dirt near the rosebush.

“I promised them they could live if they survived my spell. I’m not one to go back on my word.”

Wirt seemed bemused by her reasoning and then chuckled. “Well, I’ll make sure they stay safe then.” And despite his dislike of the slimy creatures, he moved them underneath the rosebush where they’d be safe from any hungry birds.

* * *

 

As soon as they left the forest, Wirt was overwhelmed by the chill in the air. It was October; he’d expected it to be cold. But his body had acclimated to an environment where a drop in temperature always resonated with evil and it was a reflexive action for Wirt to feel dread. It seemed being aware that it would hit wasn’t enough to keep him from sucking in a sharp breath- a reaction that prompted Beatrice to ask, “Are you okay?”

Wirt tried turning his head to look at her from his position in front steering their horse, Robert, but it wasn’t possible. He only saw a flash of coppery red fly free from her cloak hood, before being forced to look forward again. “I’m fine,” he assured her. “Just cold. It always takes me time to adjust.”

Beatrice leaned into him and tightened her hold around his waist. “I feel strange out here too,” she admitted.

“Not vomit strange, I hope,” he said, finding that he still possessed the ability to tease despite the eeriness surrounding him. “Because from your position, I don’t think that would end well for me.”

Beatrice let out a soft laugh. “No, I took a dose of my sickness potion before we left. Think I’ll be alright for a while. But if not, I’ll give you fair warning by groaning a whole bunch just before I blow.”

Wirt chuckled at her joke, but truthfully the reminder of her morning sickness flooded him with anxiety over her pregnancy. He wished he hadn’t mentioned it. Now his cold hands were becoming clammy around the horse’s reins and his heart’s tempo sped up. A familiar dread was tightening his chest and trying to manifest itself as a panic attack.

_No, not now._

His time with Beatrice was limited and he wouldn’t let it be compromised by the worst parts of his personality. Especially when he had not only her family but his to deal with as well. Too many instances where things could go wrong loomed over him and made his fear grow. And yet he was determined to keep it together. He had to. For her. For their baby. And for the forest.

The voices never truly went away when he traveled. Their pain went from a nearly constant stream of words to murmurs in the back of Wirt’s mind, reminding him they were eternally trapped. And in a way he was too. Not that he couldn’t leave, but rather that it was his duty to stay. On the rare occasion when his mind wandered, reminiscing about those first few months of marriage when he’d lived with Beatrice in their tiny house at the mill, spending his days working for her father and nights writing poetry while enjoying newly wedded bliss, the joy he felt would quickly fade when Wirt thought of his brother. It was a horrific image that haunted him still, of what had almost happened to him. Gregory might’ve become one of those voices crying out. And that single memory was enough to inevitably shut down any thoughts of him taking Beatrice, and leaving those souls behind. Wirt wouldn’t let another creature come and harm the trees and use them for evil the way The Beast had.

“You’re being really quiet,” Beatrice said, breaking through his melancholy fueled thoughts.

“Am I?” Wirt asked.

“Yeah, you haven’t said anything for the last hour.”

Had he actually spent that long falling into his pit of gloom? “I-I guess I was lost in thought,” he replied but hesitated while trying to think of a better way of saying- _I was about to have a panic attack, but then it turned into one of my depression episodes_. “Just thinking about uh, life and traveling.”

Beatrice snorted. “A bit on the nose, don’t you think?” she said, and leaning her head on his shoulder, the fragrance of vanilla drifted his way, courtesy of her homemade shampoo. She didn’t just make potions in that pot of hers. “What was that one poem you used to recite all the time- the one about traveling and roads?” she asked.

At the mention of one of his favorite verses, Wirt’s morose mood lifted some. “I shall be telling this with a sigh,” he began, but then paused to affect a more dramatic tone and do the poem justice. “Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.”

Beatrice sighed happily and he could hear the smile in her voice when she said, “I love it when you get all nerdy and recite Frost.”

Wirt’s own face lit up with a grin over her knowing who he’d been quoting. “But it’s true, you know. I _am_ glad about my life and taking the road less traveled ... because it led me to you.”

Beatrice’s lips grazed the exposed skin on the back of his neck and he shivered. “I’m glad too,” she replied. “What would I be without my overly dramatic poetry boy?”

“Still a bluebird? You know, ‘cause I got those scissors for you,” Wirt replied, which earned him a flick of the ear from his wife

And as he listened to her laugh, Wirt felt a sensation- one that so often escaped him. He felt confidence. Confidence that it might be possible to look past the anxiety staring him down over their uncertain future. He’d taken that less traveled road before and it led him to find his better half. Even if they were apart for a time, Wirt was hopeful that their connection would stay strong. It had managed to break through two different worlds while they were dating. What was nine months separated by a day and a half of travel? It would work. He’d make sure of it.

* * *

 

When Beatrice and Wirt arrived late in the afternoon the next day, Wirt sighed in relief at the sight of the mill off on the horizon. Since Beatrice needed more than one bag this time, they’d had to pull a cart, and he was glad a wheel hadn’t broken because despite living the most rustic existence he could’ve ever imagined for himself, he still failed miserably at anything skilled labor.

As they grew closer, Wirt could see a few of Beatrice’s siblings out in the yard, raking fallen leaves, and one in particular came running up to greet them. “What’s with the cart? Did you bring us presents?” Henry asked as he jogged alongside them, only stopping when Wirt guided their horse to a spot near the barn.

Beatrice snorted. “Hello to you too,” she sarcastically replied. Henry just shrugged and went to the cart, lifting up the tarp to see what was underneath. “Hey, stay out of my stuff, you snoop,” Beatrice shouted and then moved to jump down from Robert, but Wirt blocked her with his arm.

“Let me help you,” he offered, but it came out sounding more like a demand.

Beatrice huffed. “Fine. Guess I might as well get used to people treating me like I’m fragile, now that we’re here.”

Wirt carefully slid off their horse and then eased Beatrice down. She didn’t even wait until both feet were on firm ground before bolting towards her brother, and Wirt half-listened to the argument that erupted between them. Henry may have been her favorite, but adolescence had transformed his personality into one that now closely mirrored his older sister’s. As their bickering continued, Wirt untied Robert and led him to the trough, waving to Beatrice’s sister Lydia as she ran past to join her two siblings. He stayed near their horse longer than he needed to since Beatrice’s large and loud family always made him feel a bit awkward when they gathered as a group. From the sidelines, he observed as her parents and siblings slowly came out to welcome Beatrice home.

But it was the last one to arrive that caught Wirt off guard, stopping to see him first before greeting his sister. “Hey,” his loud voice boomed and Wirt jumped in surprise. This reaction caused Andrew to laugh and he came up beside Wirt to give his shoulder a good shove. “Still can make you jump out of your skin.”

Wirt was convinced the eldest of Beatrice’s brothers did this on purpose. It was like a bad joke, and sadly one that never failed. Andrew just had a stealthy way that always worked against Wirt’s senses. It didn’t help that a portion of his mind was constantly distracted by soft voices, but that wasn’t something anyone except Beatrice knew about. “Hey, uh, Andrew.” Wirt crossed his arms over his chest, trying to take a stance that showed he wouldn’t be intimidated even if Andrew did tower over him by a few inches and had him beat in the bicep department.

“So, what’s with all the stuff?” Andrew asked, pointing at the cart Beatrice was now rifling through to hand out small bottles of homemade gifts to her brothers and sisters. “You planning on kicking me out and moving back into your house?”

At the mention of it, Wirt glanced in the direction of the small home he’d built with the help of Beatrice’s family. It had been intended to last him and Beatrice a year or two, until it was possible for them to move somewhere more permanent, but they’d only managed to occupy it for six months before everything changed. Soon afterward, Andrew had taken it over and now it was his place. Wirt wanted to ask why he was still living with his family at twenty one, but knew that wouldn’t go over well, so he simply stated, “No, that house is yours now.”

“So, why bring a cart then?”

Wirt inaudibly groaned. Beatrice had told him she wanted to break the big news, so why couldn’t Andrew just leave him alone. “It’s a long story, Beatrice will tell you.”

Andrew made a drawn out thinking noise while tapping his chin and Wirt nearly rolled his eyes. “You two separating?” he finally asked with as much grace as a barrel-chested buffoon could muster.

“What? No- no that’s not- why would you-” Wirt shook his head as the confidence he’d been running off of since yesterday shrank into nearly nothing. “Why would you think that? Did she say something the last time we were here?”

This made Andrew laugh again. “Beatrice tell me anything personal, now that’s funny.”

“Then why say that?” Wirt hated how his question came out sounding so anxious.

“I don’t know, just a thought,” Andrew responded while running a hand through his hair before it fell back down again in waves grazing his jawline. “Why else bring half your home with you if you’re only supposed to be staying a week?”

“It’s not … it’s just… Beatrice is, she's pregnant, okay,” Wirt said without thinking. “And she’s going to come and stay here for a little while. But we’re not separating. Everything’s fine. We’re fine.” It wasn’t until Andrew’s eyes widened that Wirt realized his mistake, and in one quick breath he added, “But don’t say anything yet, okay?”

“Sure,” Andrew agreed, before slapping Wirt on the back and yelling, “Hey, Beatrice. You’re having a baby?” as he walked towards her.

Instantly the world seemed to slow down as all the members of Beatrice’s family turned to look at her. But she only had eyes for Wirt, staring his way with an icy blue glower that told him he was in trouble. Not as much trouble as Andrew though, who received a punch to the nose for revealing her secret. “Stop taking advantage of Wirt’s insecurities,” she yelled as her brother went down. “I know that’s how you found out.”

Beatrice’s mother gasped her name and came to stand beside her. “If this is true, and you are with child, you cannot simply go around punching your brothers like usual. Well, you shouldn’t be punching anyone anyways, but especially not now.” She went to inspect her daughter’s hand, but Beatrice jerked it away.

“I’m fine,” she stated through clenched teeth, and then stomped past everyone to enter the house, leaving a flustered Wirt alone to face her large family who was now staring at him, wanting answers.   


	5. Chapter 5

After slamming the door, Beatrice flopped down onto the bed in her old room. For most of her life this place had been a sanctuary away from the prying eyes of her family, but now these four walls and everything inside belonged to Lydia. Once her sister became the eldest child still residing at home, the largest bedroom not currently occupied by her parents had become hers. Which was obvious to Beatrice as she took in the pale pink walls surrounding her and the floral patterned quilt she was lying on. It wasn’t anything she would’ve chosen for herself and was a subtle reminder that she didn’t belong in here anymore. This wasn’t her place to mope.

For a brief time, the room had been Andrew’s before he moved into the small cottage Beatrice had vacated with Wirt when they became caretakers of the forest. At the thought of her brother, she muffled a scream using Lydia's pillow. Even just his name made her seethe all over again. _Andrew. That jerk_. Why did he always have to pick on Wirt? Somehow, in that muddled brain of his, he reasoned it was funny and harmless, but no one understood what her husband went through. Not the way she did. He didn’t need the added stress of a lunkhead singling him out to feed his bullish ways.

Nor- she reluctantly admitted to herself- did Wirt need a wife who stormed out on him because of her temper. She’d tried so hard to not let her volatile side break free since finding out she was pregnant, and all it took was one taunt from her brother for Beatrice to succumb to that hotheadedness buried just below the surface. She let out a defeated sigh. It was Andrew that was at fault, not Wirt. She needed to go find them both and make amends.

Heaving herself off the bed, she smirked thinking of how her maturity was showing through. If this had happened a few years ago, she would’ve been up in this room for hours, stewing and refusing to speak with anyone. Perhaps Henry would’ve taken up residence outside her door in a hopeless attempt to convince her to come out. Now it had barely been a few minutes before she’d decided it was stupid to lock herself away. Better to face conflict head-on. Well, punching Andrew had been facing it in her own way, but that didn’t resolve the issue, not really. If anything it made her situation worse, something Beatrice was reminded of when pain shot up the back of her hand as she flexed it. Years of using her knuckles to deal with conflict told her that if she didn’t find something cold for her hand soon, it would swell.

But first she had to do things Wirt’s way … and that meant fixing her problems with words, not fists. With a weary shake of the head at the apology she couldn’t believe she was about to make, Beatrice reached out her uninjured hand to twist the door handle but froze when someone knocked. “I’m sorry for storming into your room Lydia,” she quickly apologized, assuming it was her sister. Or maybe it was Henry. Perhaps even Wirt. Her assumptions as to who it might be made up a short list containing pretty much every member of her family except the one who was standing in the archway when she opened the door. “Andrew?” Beatrice said in disbelief. “What do you want?” she asked, but then narrowed her gaze. “You know what, never mind. I don’t care.”

And she might’ve followed her impulse to shove past him if at that moment her brother hadn’t raised his hands and showed her his palms, signaling a truce. “Wait. Can we talk for a second ... in private?” Andrew asked, his voice betraying a vulnerability she’d never heard from him before and it caused Beatrice to remember the whole reason she wanted to leave Lydia’s room in the first place. She’d been on her way to do exactly what Andrew was now. _Always trying to one-up me,_ Beatrice grumbled to herself.

“That depends. What did you want to say?” She crossed her arms and lifted her chin, not meaning to seem so indignant, but unable to hold back. This was Andrew after all. The sibling she’d been at odds with since birth.

“It’s just, uh …” Andrew glanced over his shoulder and then surprised Beatrice by nudging her back inside the room.

“Hey! You can’t just push a pregnant woman like that,” she criticized and Andrew rolled his eyes. He hadn’t actually pushed her, but she was still feeling combative.

“Knock it off. I barely touched you. I just want to do this away from everyone,” Andrew said. “I can already hear them lining the staircase.”

“Lydia’s not going to like it that you’re in her room.”

“Oh, and she likes it any better that you’re in here,” Andrew snapped back, but his expression quickly softened. “That is, let’s just get this settled so we don’t have to spend another minute in here.”

“Fine by me.” Beatrice glared at him for a moment, before sitting back down on the bed, while Andrew leaned against the door, crossing his arms in a move that mirrored his sister’s.

“Well, first off, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have broken the news to everyone. I thought-”

“It would be funny to one-up me,” Beatrice spoke over him. “To take away my important announcement. To bully my husband into revealing it to you.”

“Okay, okay, when you put it like that, yeah, I guess I was being kinda-”

“An ass.”

“Jeez, Beatrice. Let me get a word in, will ya?”

She gritted her teeth, but nonetheless kept quiet, making a sweeping motion with her arm, giving him permission to let out what he had to say. In response, Andrew tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow; a challenge. He didn’t believe she could stay quiet and Beatrice bit back the retort wanting to get out.

“Sooo,” he finally spoke after a few seconds of strained silence. “Like I said, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it through. And what I did to Wirt, it wasn’t right either.” He sighed and ran a hand down his face, momentarily forgetting about his newly sore nose courtesy of Beatrice, which resulted in him hissing. She tried not to snicker. “It’s just how I deal with things,” he began again after recovering, but paused, looking like he was wrestling with what he wanted to say next. Andrew’s inner struggle lasted so long that Beatrice felt inclined to sigh dramatically. “It’s how I show my love,” he finally muttered so fast and low, that she wasn’t quite sure she’d heard him right.

“Excuse me?”

“Do I really have to say it again?” Andrew seemed twitchy and she was oh, so enjoying his sudden urge to squirm. Could this really be the same brother who their mother often compared to her, the one unwilling to ever admit his true feelings?

“Yes,” Beatrice replied with a smirk that was far too obvious. “I didn’t quite get that.”

“Yes, you did,” Andrew huffed. “And I’m not repeating it so you can make fun of me. Just appreciate that I’m going out of my way to let you know that I care about you and your baby. I’m going to make sure that you’ll be safe since I guess you’ll be staying here with us now. And I wanted to offer you your cottage back, so you can have some privacy while you’re here. Because you’re my sister. We’re blood, and that means something important to me.”

His confession stunned Beatrice into silence. She’d hoped for some form of a strained alliance between the two of them for the duration of her time back home- you go your way and I’ll go mine- but this was on another level. Andrew was showing a side of himself she’d never glimpsed before. And perhaps it was a new side. Beatrice had first-hand experience with how someone could change for the better; maybe there was more to Andrew than met the eye.

“Will you just say something, so I can leave? I still have to apologize to Wirt and that’s going to be sooo much worse.”

He sounded so contrite that laughter spilled out of Beatrice. It wasn’t her intent to make Andrew feel bad. Actually, she was seeing him in a different light and was interested in knowing where this change of heart had come from, but the absurdity of what she was seeing won over her senses. When he appeared justifiably annoyed by her reaction, Beatrice quieted down. “I’m sorry. I really am,” she forced out in between giggles. “I’m just shocked, that’s all.”

“At what?”

Beatrice shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. With your sudden humanity, maybe. The fact you can admit all your teasing of Wirt is wrong, enough that you want to apologize to him, someone you’ve been at odds with since the beginning.”

“I have not,” Andrew argued. When Beatrice shot him a dubious look, he added, “Well, not all the time.”

“You nearly punched him out the first time you met,” she reminded her brother.

“Only, because I thought he kidnapped you.”

Beatrice laughed again, remembering how preposterous that moment from nearly six years ago was, but stopped when Andrew threw his hands up in frustration. “I’m sorry. It’s just- you do realize how asinine it was to think Wirt was capable of that.”

“Knowing what I know now, yeah, but at the time- look this is pointless.” Andrew crossed the room and sat down next to Beatrice in another act that surprised her. “I want us to start over, okay?”

“Start over,” she repeated. “Like as of today?”

Andrew let out a sigh that transitioned into a low chuckle. “No, how ‘bout we just start over from birth. Seems that we’ve been at this for a lifetime.”

Beatrice smiled and twisted her body to stare straight at her brother. “Okay, Andrew. It’s nice to meet you.” She held out her hand. “I’m Beatrice and have heard nothing about how you’re a self-centered jerk who likes to pick on others.”

Andrew rolled his eyes, but inevitably played along, taking her hand in his and saying, “Hello Beatrice, it’s nice to meet you. I have heard nothing about how you like to punch others when you’re angry at them.”

“Yeah, who does that anyway?” she replied making a face, and Andrew snorted.

“Not anybody I know. Not anymore I hope.”

* * *

An updated version of the playlist I posted on [8tracks ](https://8tracks.com/pixiestickers/if-you-re-lonely-press-play)in 2014, now featuring all the songs that have inspired me throughout this series, is on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/1243781240/playlist/46vxuFfQ4a9aO0YwABnH8W?si=IE9sQ4HWQteJQi0rDrprMg).

 


	6. Chapter 6

Beatrice’s outburst and subsequent pouting over Andrew revealing her pregnancy was resolved sooner than Wirt anticipated. Unfortunately, it still wasn’t quick enough to keep her family at bay after she departed. Instantly they set upon him, inundating Wirt with a variety of questions he had no desire to answer-

“How far along is she?”

“Will we get to see the baby?”

“Who will help with the birth, a midwife?”

This was just a sampling of the interrogation Wirt was subjected to before he cowardly snuck into the barn, muttering some excuse that was more him projecting onto Robert than anything the horse actually needed. “I-I should get him inside, he’s tired a-and everyone surrounding him is making him anxious.”  

“Come, children,” their mother said, giving Wirt a wink. “There will be plenty of time to talk with Wirt and Beatrice at dinner, which I’ll need your help preparing since we’ll be having guests with us tonight.”

A chorus of whines rose up as she guided her children away and Henry argued, “Beatrice and Wirt are family, not guests. Why do I have to help?”

Wirt exhaled as he watched them go, and then retreated further into the barn, so far in fact that he eventually found himself up in the loft where he used to sleep. Laying down with his arms behind his head, he stared up at the ceiling and listened to birds chirping from the rafters, absently wondering if Beatrice could interpret their sounds. A few minutes later, the bird-whisperer in question found him hiding amongst the hay, with accusations that he was avoiding her family, something Wirt didn’t deny.

“Can you blame me? When you left, a hoard of curious creatures descended upon me wanting to tear my body limb from limb in search of answers about our child,” he said, rolling over to his side and leaning on his elbow.

“I would say you were being your typical overly dramatic self, but in this case, you’re probably right.” She sighed in resignation, settling down opposite him and draping her hand over his hip. Wirt mirrored the motion on her. “I’m sorry I left you at their mercy.”

“If your family hasn’t scared me off yet, they never will.” He tapped his finger against her nose and she scrunched it. “Did you and Andrew have a good talk? I saw him sneak into the house after you. Assuming you let him through the door you locked yourself behind, that is.”

Beatrice’s brows shot up. “How did you know?”

Wirt grinned. “How many times did I have to coax you out from behind locked doors when we dated?”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her gaze, causing Wirt to softly laugh. “Well, for your information,” she said, raising her voice and gently pushing against his chest, “I let him in the room and we made peace. But the more important thing here is he wants to speak with you next.”

This news made Wirt jolt upright. “What? Why?” he asked

“A truce. He made one with me, now he wants to make one with you,” Beatrice explained, positioning herself beside him again. Wirt must’ve looked skeptical, because she added, “I know that sounds like a setup for him to pull one over on you- that would be so like him- but he seems genuinely sorry for how he’s treated us. Either that or these pregnancy hormones are making me lose my ability to accurately guess people’s true nature. Hey!” She shoved his shoulder. “Maybe you could use some of your _emotional snooping_ on Andrew. See if he’s still a bastard.”

“That only works with you,” he replied, and then deadpanned, “and you’re not a bastard.”

“Are you sure about that?” she asked, bringing her mouth nearer to his. “Being in the spot where we made love for the first time. Tell me, Wirt, what are my emotions saying right now?”

He didn’t have to sense her emotional field to know. “Really? I just watched you punch your brother down to the ground, your whole family is in various places nearby, and Robert is downstairs. Now is not the time. And besides, I don’t think the term bastard means what you think it does.”

Beatrice snorted. “I was only teasing. You couldn’t sense that? Some emotional sensitivity you have.” She pinched his arm and laughed when he complained.

Something had changed in her mood since their arrival. Maybe it was the reconciliation between brother and sister, and the soon to be truce between brother-in-laws. Wirt wasn’t very optimistic about raising a white flag with Andrew- hope was an elusive emotion for him most days now anyways- but as long as Beatrice felt confident, she could fill his void for him.

“Alright, fine! We’re leaving!” she shouted suddenly, causing Wirt to jump. When he sent her a perplexed glance, she pointed upward. “The bluebirds. They keep yelling at us to leave.”

Wirt chuckled. “Well, I have first-hand knowledge on how bad it is to have a bluebird angry at you, so we better get going.”

Beatrice pinched him again and this time Wirt didn’t complain. He definitely deserved that one.

* * *

 

Andrew’s extended olive branch was about as weak and awkward as Wirt expected, but not nearly as cringe-inducing as the family dinner that followed. After avoiding most questions in the hour leading up to their meal, Beatrice and Wirt were no longer able to dodge her family's inquiries. She did most of the answering, but it was Andrew speaking up that took things into territory Wirt was dreading. Clearly proud of his offer to return their small house to them, Andrew announced with a little too much grandeur, “And I told them they could stay in my place until Beatrice has the baby.”

Lydia looked displeased over this news. “Are we switching rooms again? I only just got mine after Esther married. This is completely unfair.”

“You’re moving back home?” Beatrice’s mother asked, unable to hide her excitement over this news.

“Until the baby is born,” her daughter replied.

“Does this mean you’ll be working at the mill again?” This question was directed at Wirt from Beatrice’s father, but it was Beatrice who replied.

"Wirt’s not staying here with me." Her answer was newsworthy enough to get all sets of eyes to turn in her direction. With his attention already focused on her, Wirt emotionally reached out despite knowing she hated when he pried without her permission. It wasn’t intentional. His emotional telepathy acted of its own accord at times, almost like a second person he had no control over. At the moment, Beatrice was anxious and the defining piece making up that emotion reminded him of what having a secret felt like. Everyone's stares had caused her to look down and focus on the half-eaten dinner in front of her. She chewed her bottom lip, struggling with how to justify Wirt leaving, before finally stating, “He needs to stay in the forest. It’s important to him.” Suddenly their roles reversed; all attention switched to Wirt and he gulped. Most were probably assuming what Andrew had. And oddly enough, it was Beatrice’s oldest brother who came to Wirt’s rescue. Sort of.

“Don’t worry, they’re not separating,” he said and Beatrice glared at him. “What?” he objected. “I was just helping. Wirt wasn’t talking.”

“Stop butting in. You gave away my news, now you’re speaking for Wirt too?”

Andrew looked annoyed but held back the retort written in his expression, a clear show of how he was trying to keep his relationship with Beatrice from boiling over into their usual fights. “Fine, Wirt.” He turned away from his sister to stare pointedly at him. “Want to share why it is you’re not taking care of my sister even though she’s carrying your baby?”

A second later Andrew groaned and Wirt assumed Beatrice had kicked him under the table as they were sitting directly across from each other. The irritation she exuded towards her brother was beginning to twist into despair, bringing Wirt to the conclusion that he had to end this. And not with any made up excuse either. It was time to come clean. Partly to save face and let them all know he wasn’t abandoning her, but also because he just couldn’t force Beatrice to lie anymore. Causing her more stress when he was already asking too much of her, wasn’t an option. “I-I can hear the trees,” he blurted, realizing too late his words wouldn’t make sense to anyone except Beatrice.

Henry snorted into his glass of water and it sounded like the word jackass was muttered, but Wirt couldn’t be sure.

“Did you just say you can hear trees?” Beatrice’s father leaned forward in his seat. Resting his elbows on the table, he folded his hands and wore an expression of deep concern. “Son, are you feeling well?”

“Y-yes, well, n-no actually. But uh, the thing is…” Wirt pulled at his shirt collar. “I’m feeling well enough now, but most days it can be exhausting doing what I do.”

“Is writing poetry really that taxing? Seems it would be pretty easy to write words.” Lydia had said this absentmindedly but shrank in her seat when Beatrice shot her a nasty look. “Have I said something wrong? That _is_ why you moved away, isn’t it? To be nearer to nature where Wirt could be inspired and you could work on your witchcraft out from under Mother’s nose.”

The first part was the official excuse; the second had been a secret among the siblings that Lydia let slip without thinking. “Yes and no,” Wirt quickly answered before Beatrice’s mother could express how she felt about this revelation.

“And just what the hell does that mean?” It was Andrew again and he sounded exasperated. Clearly, their truce only went so far.

“Andrew! Language!” His mother scolded.

“But he’s being so damn cryptic. Like always,” Andrew complained with a huff.

“You still need to watch your language in front of Henry.”

“Why?” Henry demanded. “I’m not a kid anymore. I’m so old I’m going to be an uncle soon. And uncles can curse.”

 _Soon_. The word made Wirt’s stomach knot and he stood to shift the attention back on him before the scene devolved further. “Look, I-I know everyone is confused and you have every right to be,” Wirt said. “Beatrice and I haven’t been fully honest with you about our relationship. About how we met and what we went through and what we’re still going through. It’s complicated and long and something that deserves a better place to tell than casually over dinner.” He then left the room, feeling the creep of panic that given time would boil over into an anxiety attack. Beatrice excused herself and followed him.

“Where are you going?” she gently asked.

Wirt shook his head and sighed, coming to a stop near the front entrance. “Nowhere. Outside. I don’t know.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and Beatrice reached up to bring Wirt’s hand down into her hold.

“Sounds like you’re a bit conflicted over your destination. Personally, I like _Nowhere_ best, but _I don’t know_ is a close second.”

He leaned his forehead against hers and chuckled. Somehow she could always bring him down from his self-destructive heights. “I’m sorry, everything is piling on and … I should go apologize to them.”

“No need. They’re all trying their best to listen in. I’m sure they heard you.” The faint sound of shuffling feet receding back into the dining area caught Wirt’s ear. If Beatrice’s family was anything, they were tenaciously nosey, and it was amazing not a single one of them had been able to piece together the truth behind the lies he and Beatrice had woven over the years. “My family can be overbearing. I know,” she continued, squeezing his hand as Wirt felt her concern wrap around him like a blanket. It didn’t feel right. Considering Beatrice's current state, it should've been him reassuring her and not the other way around. “So if you want me to tell them to mind their own goddamn business, I will.”

“No, I don’t want that,” he replied, darting a glance towards the other room where mumbling voices were blending together, most likely conversing about Beatrice's weird husband. “But I think it’s time we tell them. We kept our parents in the dark about The Beast, because we were afraid they might try and keep us apart. And when we left for the forest we told them a lie, because we thought it would keep everyone safe.” Wirt pulled away and stared meaningfully into his wife’s eyes. “It’s time to tell our story. Our real story. To come clean. But I’ll need your help.”

“Of course,” Beatrice replied. “What do you need me to do?”

The side of Wirt’s mouth pulled upward as a half-formed idea filled his head. “I’ve decided on my destination. I want to go outside. Come with me to the garden wall. I need to be reminded of a simpler time between us.”

“Nothing about us has ever simple, Wirt,” Beatrice playfully chided. “You told me that yourself on the night of our second wedding. But if going to the wall is what you need, I’ll take a stroll down memory lane with you.”


	7. Chapter 7

There was still light left in the evening sky when Beatrice stepped outside with Wirt, but pale blue had started to shift into pinkish orange, and she thought it best to bring a lantern along with them to the garden wall. It was during this slight detour to retrieve a light source that another deviation from their plans presented itself in the form of a brother. The last she wanted to see after his hostility towards Wirt during dinner. “Leave us alone, Andrew,” she warned, after exiting the barn and seeing him standing beside an anxious-looking Wirt. Her voice was even, with just a smidge of hostility to show she wasn’t mad … yet. “Wirt and I have plans and they don’t include you.”

“I wanted to apologize,” he began, looking contrite, but Beatrice cut him off with a glare. She would have none of it and continued glowering while setting the lantern down at her feet.

“You’re not going to fool me again. Apologies mean nothing unless they’re followed with a change of heart,” she stated, kneeling to light the lamp. “Not sure that stone inside your chest is capable of that.”

“Will you give it a rest, Beatrice? I’m trying, okay? And really, what was I supposed to think? He’s leaving you here, any normal person would find that suspicious.”

Beatrice refused to look at him, focusing instead on a memorized fire spell. Rather than fight, she would ignore her brother. Maybe he’d just go away.

“Fine. Don’t say anything. But just so you know, I came out here because I know you two are going to the wall and I’m coming with you.”

This snapped her attention back to Andrew. So much for the idea of him going away. “Whatever for?” Beatrice demanded.

“To try to understand, so I’m not jumping to conclusions anymore when it comes to your weird relationship with him.” He pointed at Wirt who briefly glanced away.

“First of all, if you want something, you might try getting it by not insulting us,” she informed, still concentrating on her spell. It wasn’t working; her annoyance with Andrew was inhibiting what honestly should’ve been easy magic- one of the first conjurations she’d ever learned.

“What, so I’m not supposed to think it’s strange that you two are from different worlds, he apparently hears trees, and now wants to leave you with us so he can go back and listen to them, despite you being pregnant? Not sure you’re aware, but that’s pretty close to the definition of strange.”

Instinctively, Beatrice’s hand began balling into a fist, but the pain this action provoked reminded her that she’d already dealt with him this way today and had vowed not to do it again. Their truce was on shaky ground, if it hadn’t fallen through the cracks altogether. Her fingers relaxed as a less antagonizing reply replaced the retort she’d been ready to use. Although, surprisingly, it was Wirt who spoke first.

“He’s right, Beatrice.”

She jerked her head to stare at her husband and bit back the childish urge to tell him to stay out of her fight.

“Let him come with us if that’s what he wants. We decided to let your family know the truth. Why not now?”

Beatrice stood, having managed to finally light the lantern. “Because he’s insufferable.” When Andrew opened his mouth to defend himself, she groaned and threw her hands in the air dramatically. “Fine. If you must, come along.” Wirt was the only reason she relented. Andrew on the other hand would have to prove himself, because taking him at his word earlier had been a mistake. Reaching down, she picked up the lantern and handed it to her brother. “And why don’t you make yourself useful while you're at it?”

“I’m not your lackey,” he grumbled but made no move to follow that up with a refusal to do as she suggested.

“Just be grateful I haven’t turned you back into a bird yet,” Beatrice threatened and Andrew balked. A moment of uneasy silence passed between them as he tried to discern if she was being facetious or not.

“Don’t worry,” Wirt said, breaking through their standoff. “She says that to everyone. The worst she's done is turn me into a crow for a few days. It wasn’t so bad.”

Beatrice let out a snort of surprise that trilled into a giggle. If Wirt was joking, he must truly not have an issue with Andrew accompanying them, and to prolong this rare shift in her husband’s mood, she fixed Andrew with a wicked stare, then began whispering nonsensical words in a dramatic cadence that made her gibberish sound more menacing than it actually was. When he reeled backward, nearly dropping the lantern, both she and Wirt laughed, a reaction her brother didn’t seem all too pleased with.

“I don’t actually do that sort of thing, you know,” Beatrice said, leaning in closer, invading Andrew’s personal space and poking his chest. He swatted her hand away. “Human to animal transformations are cruel. I consider it dark magic- which by the way, I don’t practice, despite what Mother may think. But I don’t know. I might make an exception for extremely bothersome brothers. So watch yourself.” Andrew reacted to her taunt with an expression she knew well since both were apt to use it on the other. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Andrew Albert Everly,” Beatrice scolded, but without the bite that had laced their earlier exchange. Her fight with him was transitioning into the normalcy of everyday sibling rivalry. Clearly, he no longer took her threats seriously.

“Or what, Beatrice Briona Everly-Williams?” he shot back, enunciating her full name just as she had. “You’ll take them out, put them in a pot for some all seeing eye spell? Or maybe even eat them in a witchy stew,” Andrew asked cavalierly as he moved past her to stand beside Wirt. “Really, how can you put up with her?” He asked using the same nonchalant tone.

Beatrice narrowed her gaze at them both- a warning. But an unruffled Wirt simply shrugged and shot her a quick smile. “With Beatrice, there's never a dull moment, and for me, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“See,” Beatrice said, lifting her chin in defiance. “Some people appreciate me.”

“Well,” Andrew replied, “That’s what I’m trying to do, isn’t it? So give me the benefit of the doubt. Help me understand this,” he gestured between husband and wife, and amazingly Beatrice didn’t detect an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. “And then maybe one day I’ll be able to look at you and not see a shrill harpy.”

And there it was.

Beatrice briefly pursed her lips, then against her better judgment, she whacked her brother in the head, holding back just enough so he couldn’t claim she’d hurt him and retaliate. Not that he would, considering she was pregnant. “That was sexist, you toad!”

Andrew rubbed his head. “Sexist?”

“It’s a term from my world,” Wirt answered. “It means you’re attributing negative characteristics to her based on her gender.”

“Strange world,” Andrew muttered, before taking the lead. “Well, looks like it’s getting late, we should really get going.” And then smiling smugly in Beatrice’s direction, he added, ”Sexist toads first,” before turning back around and sadly missing the overstated eye roll his sister had reserved just for him.

* * *

 

Much to Wirt’s surprise, the short walk to the wall proceeded without any major incidents erupting between brother and sister. Both appeared to be acting civil, although experience told Wirt that this decorum could shift unexpectedly at any given moment. Beatrice and Andrew had a tenuous relationship, one that reminded him of the love/hate dynamic played for laughs in comedies (albeit a little less funny in real life). The smarmy brother who thought the world revolved around him, set against the fire of his hot-headed sister. They didn’t always get along, yet there was little doubt that if one were in trouble, the other would be there in an instant to help.

Beatrice might not recognize it, but Wirt knew that Andrew’s animosity towards him was usually rooted in his perception of how his sister was being treated. Most often he got it wrong and overreacted, but that was partially Wirt’s fault for keeping so much about his life with Beatrice a secret. That was something he hoped to soon change.

As for Andrew’s stated desire to understand them better, Wirt still had reservations about his true intentions and spent most of their walk carefully watching his brother in law interact with Beatrice. Mostly Andrew playfully mocked his sister’s witchcraft, a mild form of retribution for when she’d antagonized him with it earlier. Beatrice seemed to take it in stride for a time, but when Wirt saw annoyance flash across her face after one too many taunts, he held his breath, exhaling only when she simply held out her palm and uttered a spell. A blue teardrop shape grew larger in size until it glowed orange above her hand, resembling a flame. “There you go. Now you know it’s not just talk,” she said with a self-satisfied smirk.

“How is your hand not burning from the heat,” Andrew asked, tempting fate by bringing his fingers closer to the flame.

“It’s not really fire, just looks like it,” Beatrice explained, holding the flickering magic closer for him to see. “It’s useful in a pinch when I’m without a light.”

This made her brother raise an eyebrow. “If you can do that, then why am I holding this damn lantern?”

“Because, _Andrew_ , magic can be draining. I try to reserve it for when it’s truly needed. There’s been times where I’ve overexerted myself and become sick with exhaustion. But, that tends to only happen when we encounter something truly evil.” Beatrice glanced Wirt’s way and he saw a question in her eyes. He gave her a little nod. “Which, where we live there can be quite a bit of,” she added.

“That forest where Wirt can hear the trees?” Andrew asked and Beatrice nodded. He was quiet for a moment, taking this revelation in before stating, “I always did think it was strange you suddenly decided to move out there and never allowed any of us to visit. That’s where Mother’s dark magic theory comes from, you know.”

Beatrice bristled, and Wirt responded by snaking his arm around her back. Gently, he tugged her nearer, causing the suspended flame to disappear. “When she started practicing magic,” he said, picking up the story, “I made her promise that wouldn’t happen. We look out for each other. No temptations towards the dark for either of us without the other knowing. Although, my darkness is a little more complicated and harder to detect. It lies deep within me.” Wirt paused, wondering if maybe he was sounding too melodramatic. “N-not that I think I’m more important than her. O-or that I do more.” A creeping sensation of sympathy began surrounding him and Wirt hated the feel of it. Beatrice should not be feeling sorry for him.

“Wirt’s job is a little more introspective,” she explained to Andrew. “Words have always been his strength, and he can sometimes convince evil to leave by simply communicating with it, which requires a lot of meditation to do. He’s always off somewhere sitting with his eyes closed, you’d think all he did was sleep.” Beatrice nudged Wirt with her elbow and he forced a smile, but wasn’t feeling particularly amused. Using his free hand, he rubbed his temple. For a moment the murmur of voices seemed amplified.

“You call it a job, is someone paying you?” Andrew asked and Beatrice let out a single hard laugh.

“Hardly. It’s more like a mission or calling. There is no exchange of coins for our services except from those who buy my potions. But Wirt’s really good at growing food, a side effect from where we live and his connection to the trees. At least that’s what we think. But we’re pretty self-sufficient, especially after a trip to his side of the wall. We always stock up on supplies.”

“But why? Why is this your mission? Unless this is some roundabout way of getting back at the witch who turned us all into bluebirds, I just don’t get it,” Andrew asked, and Wirt found himself tuning out Beatrice’s answer, staring instead at the worn path of dirt beneath his feet that he’d walked so many times before.

He didn’t need to hear the story. His nightmares were fuel enough for a lifetime. Even his waking hours weren’t free from the horrors of that night. Not now, at least. There had been a time when those memories were locked away, along with the all-encompassing dread that filled his heart whenever his mind brought him back to the forest and Greg, and what had almost happened there.

And what _had_ happened to all those other souls, some still trapped, some destroyed.

Wirt attributed those few years of mental well-being to Beatrice, who tended to mute the dark emptiness inside him with her presence. There was also his poetry which was a form of therapy. Those distraught emotions would wind their way through his mind and eventually onto paper, where they could stay. But overall, his change had come about simply by seeing Greg continue to age, and not as the half-formed tree from his nightmares. The further time removed him from the events of that night, the more he could forget … until his temporary amnesia was no longer an option and became the only way he could force himself to accept the role the Woodsman had relinquished to him. His traumatic experience with The Beast twisted and writhed like snakes inside his head until it transformed into a purpose.

“But what about us?” Beatrice had asked, a rare moment of fragility clouding her usual reckless bravery. They hadn’t yet given their answer, still debating into the night inside the Woodsman’s cottage. He was asleep. Bedridden. And his daughter had retired to her room. Wirt was quiet as he digested her question, not sure how to answer. He wasn’t sure of anything. He was only nineteen. “We had a life planned,” she continued when he stayed silent. “This isn’t what I wanted. We were supposed to get away from this place. You write poetry, me become the village witch who helps the sick and I don’t know, gives potions to jilted lovers to get back at their exes. I know Sara could use a few of those.”

He remembered thinking that her attempt at humor had contrasted horribly with the mood, but now recognized it as her way of dealing with fear. She joked through her anxiety, it made the dark reality less frightening. It was a tactic she employed liberally in the forest, and Wirt hated himself all the more for forcing her to always be the light to his dark. He fell down the well of darkness far more often than she did.

“But if protecting the forest is something you and Wirt do together, why are you coming to stay with us?”

Andrew’s question broke through Wirt’s reverie and was like brackish water against an open wound. Wasn’t it obvious to him? She was pregnant. He didn’t answer though. Again, Wirt let Beatrice explain while he moved ahead. The wall was not far off, and his hope was that it would imbue him with some happy remembrance of times between him and Beatrice spent exchanging tapes and letters. But as the ominous display of brick and mortar loomed over him, Wirt experienced the opposite. He lamented what they’d given up. Their life separated by a wall had been difficult, yet it wasn’t the same as what he’d pulled Beatrice into.

_“But the wall brought us together for a reason, for a greater purpose. This must be it.”_

Wirt’s reasoning from three years ago echoed in his head, like a dull ache until Andrew mentioned something so crazy it managed to momentarily pull Wirt from his gloom.

“Well, that’s easily solved,” he said from somewhere nearby. “I could go back to the forest with you and Wirt. No reason for you to be apart when I can help keep you safe.”

Wirt had the urge to let out an incredulous laugh; Andrew in the forest with them? What would he do, bully evil away? His plan of telling Beatrice’s family was backfiring. He wanted to help them understand, not have her brother try and fix their problems with moronic ideas. But even if he felt this way, Wirt couldn’t just dismiss Andrew. For Beatrice’s sake, he had to think of a way to let him down easy, so there would be no resentment between them. But there wasn’t even enough time to formulate a proper response because Beatrice- who had never wanted to leave him alone in the forest in the first place- ran with Andrew’s idea. She was desperate, willing to cling to anything that would keep them together (and her unsafe).

“What do you think, Wirt?” she asked, coming to stand beside him and placing her hand against the wall. Shifting his gaze away from the bricks, Wirt winced at the warm glow of hope he saw on her face. The emotional feel of it was even worse. “This is the spot where George first found your tape,” she added absently. “Or about here, I think.” She paused to pull in a breath. “It feels like it was a lifetime ago, doesn’t it?”

After a moment, Wirt muttered, “Yeah, it does,” while staring down at the blades of grass that would soon turn brown, the chill of winter destroying them. He was feeling especially histrionic and thought of a short poem, comparing himself to those blades. “I don’t know, Beatrice,” Wirt finally said, acknowledging Andrew’s suggestion, and then lowering his voice, he added, “Really? Andrew?”

And then as if her brother had felt his ears ringing, he suddenly shouted, “Hey!”

Wirt briefly widened his eyes, non-verbally communicating- _see what I mean_ , and then turned to look at Andrew, who was standing a few feet away with his eyes glued to the top of the wall. Wirt followed his gaze and then gasped at the same moment Beatrice did.

“Are other people supposed to be able to crossover?” Andrew asked, “I thought it was just you two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eight stories in and I finally give Beatrice and Wirt last names. Better late than never.
> 
> Also thanks to Leaving-A-Comment for the beta reading.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up a few hours after Sara's last chapter ends (even though Wirt and Beatrice had a few days go by in between Sara's chapters).

The pictures on the shelf behind her father’s desk were of a ghost. Not an actual ghost, although Sara did believe those existed. This particular ghost was of her past, one she could only recall through memories that possibly weren’t even her own. Over the years she’d heard stories about how the photogenic mother in the pictures had taken her young daughter to events, introduced her to people, and for a time Sara thought those memories belonged to her. But sometimes a story was repeated enough that she began to wonder if those hazy images inside her head were actually formed from the recollections of others. A pieced together Frankenstein's monster of the childhood she had been told she’d lived.

Examining one particular photograph inside a silver frame, Sara saw a little girl sitting on the hip of her mother. Caught in mid-wave, she wore a goofy grin, with hair pulled into tight braids Sara had the vaguest memory of hating. That was an experience she could pull real emotions from. An echo of those painful braids made her scalp throb. But the mother next to her, Sara couldn’t recall her much at all. Although she’d been told about this particular photograph enough to form one of her Franken-memories of the family vacation to Hawaii right before the car accident. They’d been celebrating her dad’s new job, the one he’d spend the next eighteen years devoting himself to until he became the firm’s best lawyer. The father standing on the other side of her in the photo, giving the cameraman a wide smile that was probably influenced by the mai tai in his hand, seemed just as much of a ghost as her mom. Sara had never seen her dad look so happy. It appeared foreign on the person she knew him to be now. Her mom may have been the ghost of her past, but her dad had ghosted her long ago too.  

And then that ghost spoke from behind, startling Sara enough that she let out a small noise of surprise before turning to look at her dad. “You’re awake,” she said, stating the obvious.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked, walking into the room and moving behind his desk, forcing Sara to step out of the way. He opened a drawer and pulled out a stack of papers. “My office is a strange place for you to be hanging out.” He didn’t sound angry, just distracted and slightly annoyed that he’d been interrupted during his task.

“I was just looking at your pictures,” Sara explained. Her dad swept a quick glance over his shoulder at the images lining the shelf, before focusing on the papers in his hand again, thumbing through them.

“Kale not with you this weekend?” he asked, changing the subject.

Sara had already given him a bare-bones version of her breakup when they’d talked on the phone a few days ago, but apparently, that wasn’t important enough to stick inside his mind. “No,” she stated, thinking it was pointless to tell him the story again.

“Well, I hope you have some friends to visit while you’re here and weren’t expecting me to be around much, I’ve got-”

“A big case to work on,” Sara spoke over him. “I know. And no, I wasn’t expecting you to be around. I already went out to breakfast with Colleen, and Beatrice and Wirt are coming into town tonight or tomorrow. So don’t worry about me.” Not that he would.

Her dad finally looked up at her; the regret Sara saw in his eyes was imagined. Sometimes it helped to think there was emotion behind that cold ghost exterior. “Next time, when I’m not so swamped, we’ll go out. Eat at that Italian place you like so much.”

No they wouldn’t, but Sara humored him anyway. “That sounds fun.”

“Take care,” he said, using the same tone as a bored cashier just going through the motions. Then after giving her shoulder a pat, he left his study; a minute later, Sara heard him on the phone shouting at someone. Her dad had two modes: angry lawyer and aloof father, maybe she should be grateful the two never mixed.

Instead of spending the rest of the day listening to him angrily work from home, Sara left in her car, not sure where she was going, only aware that it was vital to get away. A quick drive through town later, she ended up at a familiar house. It was nondescript, part of a long line of homes that all looked the same with one car garages and small yards surrounded by picket fences. It was a two-storied, suburbanite paradise and unlike her dad’s place- which was too large and mostly empty- Wirt’s childhood home felt like a family belonged inside. The only thing that felt welcome in the McMansion she grew up in were the ghosts.

Sara idled in the driveway for a few minutes, before deciding that even if Wirt wasn’t there, she should visit Greg. They were still buddies and it had been a few months- Beatrice’s birthday party to be exact- since they’d seen each other. Exiting her car, Sara walked past a scarecrow sitting on a bale of hay that Wirt’s mom put out every Halloween. In his lap was a pumpkin shaped bowl of candy for trick-or-treaters to take. Right now it was empty, but tomorrow that would change.

When Sara reached the front entrance adorned with a Happy Halloween sign, she rang the doorbell and was surprised when Greg answered, not as himself, but as some sort of ghoul, zombie hybrid.

“Sara!” he exclaimed and pulled her into a ferocious bear hug that squeezed the air out of her lungs. Thirteen year old Greg had experienced a growth spurt somewhere between last spring and now. He was nearly her height, and when his arms finally let go, Sara was sad to see almost all the impish roundness of that wide-eyed kid he’d been had transferred into the body of an actual teenager.

“Uh have we met?” Sara asked. “I do have the right place, don’t I?” She pulled back as if checking the house number. “Unless ... did Mr. and Mrs. H adopt you? How progressive of them to accept a member of the living dead into their family. Most would be too afraid.”

Greg snorted at her joke. “Yep, that’s me, Mortimer the zombie. Got adopted into the family last month, but I’ve been on bad terms with Greg since I ate his old man.”

They both laughed and Sara felt the warmth of finally having something to be happy about, spread throughout her body.

Greg ushered her inside, handing her a flyer for the haunted house he was working at later that evening. “It’s to raise funds for the theater department at school. I’m in the zombie room, but I’ve gone full method actor, giving my character a name and backstory. Mortimer’s a zombie in the rotting flesh, but a human at heart. He secretly loves a real girl, but can’t get too close to her or he might eat her brains.”

After listening to his tale, Sara decided that maybe Greg hadn’t fully fallen into the trappings of cynical teenagerdom. There was still a piece of that creative little kid lodged inside his mind. “I like your take on the monster/human romance trope. Much better than vampires.” She paused to eye him with an exaggerated skeptical stare. “So you’re one of those theater kids now, huh?” It shouldn’t have been a surprise; Greg’s imagination had always been over the top.

“Gregory David Hall, Theater Kid Extraordinaire, at your service.” He winked and pretended to hand her something. “Here’s my card.”

Sara took the imaginary card and perused it. “Says here you’ll only work for candy.”

“But you’ll see there in the fine print,” he leaned in to point at her empty hand, “it says no tootsie rolls.”

The sound of their shared laughter was loud enough for Greg’s mom to hear from the other room and she came rushing in to greet Sara. “It’s so good to see you,” she enthused, drawing her into a tight hug just like Greg had. When she pulled away, Sara saw her hesitate, like she wanted to say something, but then thought better of it.

“No, I haven’t heard from Wirt,” she said, answering what was most likely her unspoken question. “But there’s still time. Halloween’s not till tomorrow. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.”

Mrs. H smiled weakly as she replied, “You’re right. I’m still hopeful he and Beatrice will show up,” but her physical reaction told another story. Her eyes began blinking rapidly and she was forced to clear her throat a few times all in an effort to keep her sadness from spilling over. Sara glanced at Greg with pleading eyes.

“Hey mom, can we eat some of your cookies?” he asked a little too loudly, as if the awkwardness of their situation could be drowned out by his voice. “The ones that look like pumpkins? Sara was just saying how much she missed your cookies.”

Sara shot him a questioning look and he threw one right back at her that screamed- _play along!_ “Oh, yeah, those yummy cookies. Mmmm mmmm. Sooo good.” Greg seemed horrified by her bad acting, but his mom didn’t notice, or at least she went along with the rouse.

“Sure, they’re in the kitchen. But don’t eat too many, Greg. You’ve already had more than enough.”

He didn’t acknowledge his mom, just grasped Sara’s hand and zoomed into the kitchen. Four cookies and two glasses of milk split between them later, Greg explained his mom’s near breakdown from back in the foyer. “She’s been kinda sad lately, especially since it’s almost Halloween. But loves it when people praise her cookies. Plus, if I get to eat more then everybody wins.”

Sara placed her cup of milk down on the kitchen counter and reached out to wipe some orange frosting from the corner of Greg’s mouth, but accidentally removed a portion of his zombie makeup. “Is it Wirt?” she asked, but already knew the answer.

“It’s just that it’s been six months. He’s never gone this long between visits and then that whole freak-out last time.” Greg sighed, losing a bit of that overly enthusiastic charm he’d been oozing since first opening the door. “Mom’s been saying things like if she could redo it she’d never let him go over that wall, and that it isn’t fair he can disappear and she can’t follow him.”

Sara frowned; it seemed her house wasn’t the only one with ghosts haunting it. She wanted to say something optimistic, but couldn’t find the words. Her heart was heavy just like everyone else when it came to Wirt and Beatrice. But there was one thing she could do to cheer Greg up. “What time do you need to be at the haunted house?”

“Two hours from now,” Greg replied.

“Well, how ‘bout we do some zombie slaying via video game console to pass the time, and then I can drive you to your theater kid gig. I’ll even go through the house and be your first scare of the night.”

Greg grinned, but then in an instant, it faded. “Sara, you’re asking me to play a game where I’m killing my own people. How could you?”

He sounded so sincere that Sara almost bought it and only felt free to chuckle when his smile finally returned. “You really are a theater kid extraordinaire,” she said with chagrin.

His look was playfully smug as he answered, “Well, that _is_ what it says on my card.”

* * *

 

It wasn’t Sara’s intention to end up at a graveyard for a second time in one day, and if it wasn’t for Greg, she’d most likely be spending her evening ordering takeout and streaming a show in her room. But here she was again. Face to face with the wall separating her from Wirt and Beatrice. As they drove by the _Eternal Gardens_ cemetery on their way to the haunted house, Greg had asked if they could stop for a quick visit and Sara didn’t have the heart to tell him no. But his other request- the one he’d asked three times already- wasn’t up for debate, and she felt only slightly guilty for squashing his hope.

“Are you sure I just can’t come with you tomorrow night?” Greg asked. Again. “Even if Wirt and Beatrice don’t show up, I still want to be out here.”

Sara turned around to lean back against the wall, her hot breath coming out in little puffs of white against the cool fall air as she repeated the same answer from before, “If Wirt found out that I let you near alcohol, let alone this wall on Halloween, I’d never hear the end of it. You know how he is.”

“But it’s not fair that he gets to say what I can and can’t do. He was always going over to see Beatrice, but I never could.”

“You know why that is, Greg,” she reminded him.

The story of The Beast was one Wirt used often as a deterrent for his little brother who every so often would ask to go over the wall again. Sara was the only one outside of the brothers and Beatrice who knew about the creature who twisted bodies into trees and fed off their souls. It sounded like some cheap horror movie the first time she heard Wirt tell it, but as time went on, and he felt more comfortable talking through his anxiety, new details were added. It seriously gave her nightmares and she wondered how Wirt was ever able to go back over the wall. Although, Greg’s memory seemed cloudier. He never experienced the same level of panic that his brother did whenever that story was brought up, despite him being the victim.

“Yeah, I know,” Greg replied in resignation. “But it still sucks.”

“And don’t forget,” Sara enthusiastically added, “I gotta get you to your zombie performance. Wouldn’t want anyone to miss the tragic tale of Mortimer, the zombie who not only eats brains but can also love.” She nudged Greg with her elbow when he didn’t respond, and eventually, he acknowledged her with a nod but did so looking dejected and even more zombie-like than before.

“Sorry, guess it’s just hitting me that he probably won’t show and maybe never will.”

He sounded so pitiful and unlike the Greg she grew up with, that Sara grimaced. Truthfully, he was resembling his older brother and that made her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. There was only room for one misanthropic boy in their family.

“What if I climb the wall and tell you what I see on the other side? That way we wouldn’t technically be breaking the rules.” Greg side-eyed her offer and she could barely stand the sardonic look in his expression. “Okay, I know the wall doesn’t work for me like that, but let’s pretend it does anyway. You were always good at playing pretend, remember?”

Greg was quiet for a moment before he snorted. “I still am. It’s called acting.”

Sara smiled, but it fell when she realized what following through with her plan entailed. She’d have to climb the wall. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried before, but Beatrice and Wirt were always there helping out. Not to mention, all that college food and late night study sessions had taken away any athletic ability she acquired from dancing around as her high school's mascot. “Uh, a little help from my zombie friend would be nice?” she suggested.

Thankfully, Greg had just enough strength to give her a boost and soon she was climbing without any problems ... except for the one she found at the top. Sara had been ready to describe a scene of what she imagined Beatrice and Wirt’s world would look like- the luscious trees with rolling green hills off in the distance that were the staples of every fairytale fantasy- but instead she shouted, “Oh, my god,” and then followed that with a less than wholesome exclamation containing only four letters. This was definitely a problem. There was no way she’d be able to keep Greg from climbing up now and it wasn't in her to lie to him either about what she saw.

But a second later it occurred to Sara that none of it really mattered. Wirt might be upset, but she wouldn’t keep his brother from reuniting with the two people he’d been aching to see. Because standing right below were Beatrice and Wirt, no longer ghosts, but very real.

It didn’t even register with her that she shouldn’t be able to see them, that only train tracks, along with a hill that descended into a lake should’ve greeted her eyes. The wall was finally letting her do what she’d never been able to before. It should’ve shocked her senses, and yet at that moment in time, all she cared about was seeing her friends again. After quickly motioning for Greg to join her up the wall, Sara turned back around to the other side and yelled, “About time you guys showed up.”


	9. Chapter 9

Beatrice felt her skin prickle like it sometimes did when she was unsure of a situation. Pins and needles had danced along her skin when the bird she threw a rock at had transformed into a witch. That undoubtedly was one of her poorer choices in life, leading to a year spent living as a bird. But after discovering Wirt’s first note at the wall, the same prickly sensation had overtaken her body, and that was the start of what would eventually lead to love. Now staring at Sara perched atop the garden wall, Beatrice felt pins and needles again. The only question was- which way would fate bend this time?

The barrier between their worlds shouldn't have worked for Sara, and knowing Wirt, he'd most likely attribute this to some interference from dark magic. His instinct was to always think the worst- even more so since they became caretakers of the forest- and she wasn’t looking forward to the fight that would erupt if he tried to hold her back. Because there simply wasn’t any way she could ignore her best friend after six months of separation … even if her sudden appearance was a bad omen. In her mind, Sara was here, forget everything else.

And when Wirt whispered, “How? This shouldn’t be possible,” Beatrice steeled herself for the argument that would likely follow when he started making assumptions about what was happening.

“Does it matter?” she asked, making an effort not to sound forceful. “It’s what she’s always wanted, to see my side- _our_ side- and it’s finally happening for her. Why do we have to question it right now?”

The skin between Wirt’s eyebrows wrinkled as he struggled with Beatrice’s reasoning, but Sara didn't wait for him to respond or for either of them to come to terms with what they saw. After shouting a sarcastic reprimand that was so characteristically her, she raced down the wall with the clear intention of pulling one of them (or maybe both) into a hug. Sara’s glee was spilling over, and Beatrice wanted to meet her halfway but managed only a step before Wirt gasped her hand. “Wait,” he gently warned.

Beatrice tensed. The argument she’d anticipated was about to come to fruition, but oddly enough it was Andrew who prevented their fight by quickly rushing in front of Sara, his body becoming a barrier between her and Beatrice. “I don’t know who you are, but you can’t go running into my sister like that when she’s pregnant,” he firmly stated, and then glancing over his shoulder he added for only Wirt and Beatrice to hear, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this.”

“You most certainly will not take care of this!” Beatrice groused. Pulling her hand from Wirt’s, she let out one long groan, while using all her strength to shove her brother aside. Why were all the men in her life so set on treating her like a fragile flower? “Get out of the way, Andrew,” she growled. “This is Sara, my friend. You’ve seen pictures of her from my wedding.”

Andrew whipped his head back and forth between Sara and Beatrice before realization dawned on his face. “Oooh, you’re right.”

“Of course, I’m right,” Beatrice huffed and then faced Sara, ready to apologize. “I’m sorry. Please, excuse the idiocy of my overprotective brother.” But she didn’t reply, just stared stunned back at Beatrice, and it took her a moment to understand why. “Damn it, Andrew! You gave away my big reveal again.”

A guilty look passed over her brother’s face, but he still stubbornly stood his ground. “She was running straight for you, I thought it was better if she knew about your delicate state.”

“A fierce hug from a friend isn’t going to hurt the baby. Why are men so clueless? And I am  _not_ delicate, you meathead!”

“Hey! How was I to know she was going to hug you? She’s from the other side of the wall, she might’ve attacked you.”

"She could've just been someone from our side climbing the wall."

"Not wearing clothes like that."

Beatrice was overwhelmed with a sense of deja vu and was about to remind Andrew of his ridiculous near beat down of Wirt from the first time they met, when Sara suddenly sliced through their quarreling by exclaiming, “What the hell?” and brought all the focus back to her. “I don’t hear from you for six months and now I find out you’re pregnant. What happened to that endless supply of condoms you guys always bring back with you?”

She stared directly at Wirt as if he were the only reason behind this sudden development, and her husband flushed the brightest red Beatrice had ever seen him glow. Clearly, his caution over how Sara was able to crossover had been replaced with an embarrassment so fierce the feel of it seemed to be undulating all around them. Even Sara was affected by his awkwardness and hurried to backtrack. "That is, I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, but this is just like when you told me you guys were getting married and Wirt was barely out of high school. Now you’re popping out kids at twenty two. It’s a lot to wrap my head around.”

A million words flew through Beatrice’s mind, but none of them found their way to her lips until she settled on the most basic of explanations, “It just happened, but even if it was a shock, we decided it was still a welcome surprise.”

_Well, I did anyway._

“Hey, why didn’t you wait for me?”

The question was asked by a voice that had fundamentally changed from the high squeak inside Beatrice’s memory to the lower tenor of young adolescence, and still, she instantly recognized who it belonged to. A quick glance up the wall proved her guess right and she bit her lip, worrying what her husband would say about yet another twist in what should’ve been just a breezy evening stroll down memory lane for them.

“What is that thing?” Andrew asked in alarm. “The evil you battle?” He sounded so sincere that if the situation were different Beatrice might have laughed, but she was too anxious waiting for Wirt’s reaction.

“No, it’s my brother wearing Halloween makeup,” Wirt replied, before shooting a disappointed look at Sara. “Why did you bring Greg with you?”

“I could barely stop him,” she defended, and then very carefully stated, “That’s what happens when you go so long without seeing your family, Wirt. They get desperate and break the rules.”

His expression turned remorseful. "I didn’t mean to- it’s complicated a-and I never intended to hurt-"

“I don’t need an explanation,” Sara interrupted. “And Greg probably doesn’t either, but you should go easy on him for convincing me to come here. Honestly, I didn’t think it would work.” Her gaze shifted away from Wirt and back to Beatrice. “But it did. And I’m here, and oh my god, you’re pregnant! What is even happening?”

Sara laughed and went in for the hug Andrew had first denied her. A second set of prickles washed over Beatrice- which she could now categorize as the good kind- and when tears began streaming down her cheeks, it hardly mattered that her emotions were on full display for everyone. She might detest crying in front of others, but this time Beatrice let her feelings flow freely. Tears of happiness were far more acceptable than those produced from sorrow. “I’ve missed you so much,” she sniffed.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re gonna have a little Wirt,” she replied and Beatrice chuckled.

“Or a little Beatrice. _Please_ , let it be that because men are so useless.”

They both laughed, with Sara stating, “I’ve missed that biting commentary on life you’re so good at. I could’ve used it this past week.”

“Why? What happened?” Beatrice asked, but her friend pulled away and shook her head.

“Later,” she answered, before they both became distracted by an approaching Greg.

He was smiling with outstretched arms; his intention of running into a hug with Wirt was apparent in his body language. That happiness stood in stark contrast with the anxiety written across Wirt’s face, and Beatrice felt a pang of sympathy for the younger of the two brothers. Hopefully, their reunion wouldn’t be marred by a lecture about how Greg wasn’t supposed to go over the wall.

And then all at once, the air shifted around Beatrice as the presence of Wirt’s emotions flooded her senses again. This time it wasn't embarrassment, but a feeling that mirrored her own- joy. Only his was tinged with worry. Seeing Greg wasn’t necessarily a problem for Wirt, it was him being over the wall that was the issue. But at least for now they embraced, and as Beatrice watched their reunion she couldn’t hold back a snicker over how Greg was nearly at Wirt’s height. She always assumed he’d be the taller of the two and wondered if her husband would brood over this when it eventually happened.

It had taken Wirt a long time before the two inches she had on him were no longer a sore spot, and remembering his sulking for all those years eventually bridged into another thought; considering her newfound sensitivity to Wirt’s emotions would she be able to feel that gloom? There were times in the past when Beatrice had questioned if what she experienced were truly her own emotions or Wirt’s passing through her body like a gentle breeze. Tonight was different though; there’d been a change. For some reason, Beatrice had been granted the same magic as Wirt, and she made a note to mention this to him later. For now though, there were far too many new developments to handle; like embracing Greg and once again bursting into tears, which she did moments later. The desire to say something meaningful took hold of her as they wrapped their arms around each other, but she only managed to choke out, “Why the heck are you dressed like a zombie?”

“Because I got a zombie performance at six,” he replied like it was common sense.

“Of course, I should’ve known,” she laughed through her tears.

Beatrice didn’t plan on making it a habit of crying through every reunion for the rest of her life, but at this particular moment, those tears felt cathartic. Like all those months wondering when she would ever see Sara and Greg again were no longer chaining her down. They were all back together.

For a little while at least, which sadly, according to Wirt, wasn’t going to last past the garden wall. After everyone had gotten their fill of hugs and heartfelt greetings, with Andrew managing to not spoil Beatrice’s surprise for once, Wirt grew stoic. Beatrice didn’t have to guess to know what was coming next.

“It’s good to see you Greg,” he said. “But you know you can’t stay. I have to get you back over that wall.”

Greg frowned at Wirt. “I just got here. Why do I have to go back?” he whined, pushing against his brother’s suggestion. “You’re not even going to show me where Beatrice lives? I know it’s not far from here. You always said so.”

His brother let out an exasperated sigh. “Greg, you’ve already seen her house. You helped destroy it. Remember? On our first night over the wall?”

“Yeah, but I never got to meet her family.”

“Well, here’s Andrew.” Wirt gestured to Beatrice’s brother who waved and gave a strained smile, clearly feeling uncomfortable. When Greg just harrumphed, Wirt lost his temper. “Will you just go?! I’m doing this for your own good. Why can't you understand that?”

His outburst had four sets of eyes suddenly scrutinizing him, and again Beatrice was able to sense Wirt’s embarrassment. “Uh, that is ... fine, let’s compromise,” he offered, his voice shrinking down into a frustrated mumble. “We can go see the Everly homestead for a little while, but I’m sending you back home tonight.” Wirt wrung his hands and stared at Beatrice when Greg once again protested. “A little help,” he asked and must’ve been desperate because he already knew where she stood on the issue.

Pursing her lips, Beatrice wavered on how to respond. She honestly didn’t care for Wirt’s idea but wanted to end this standoff between the brothers. “Gregory,” she finally said, turning to stare at him. “A quick trip to my childhood home isn’t nearly enough time for you to explore it to its fullest, or even meet my family- that in and of itself is an adventure that requires ample amount of time- so I want to suggest a better compromise.”

Wirt raised an eyebrow. “Beatrice,” he said her name warily, but she merely arched a taunting eyebrow right back.

“You did ask for my help, didn’t you?” she asked. Wirt let out a harsh breath, but stayed quiet after that, allowing her to continue. “Go home tonight with Wirt,” she told Greg. “Get to your zombie performance, spend some time with your brother- just the two of you- and then tomorrow you can visit with my family for the entire day, before you, me, Wirt, and Sara all head back over the wall for a Halloween night in the graveyard. You’re old enough for a proper Halloween celebration now. But after that, you have to promise not to come back here again.”

“I don’t like this plan,” Wirt grumbled.

“Excuse us,” Beatrice said to their small group, before pulling on Wirt’s elbow, leading him a few steps away, and whispering, “You can’t keep Greg on his side forever. At least this way, he’ll have a chance to feel like he’s a part of our life over here without actually becoming too deeply involved.”

Wirt appeared to wrestle with Beatrice's plan, but not for the reason she assumed. “The wall’s not behaving the way it usually does and we'll be separated by it for the first time since we got married. What if it stops working for us?”

This made Beatrice giggle; a reaction Wirt didn't care for, because he sighed miserably, like he'd just finished reciting one of those dreary poems she missed so much. “It’s not keeping people out. If anything it’s letting more crossover, so you’re worrying about nothing. And you can use this opportunity to make up for lost time with Greg. Fix whatever was broken the last time we visited. And assuming Sara wants to stay here with me tonight, I'll be able to tell her things about us that would normally make you flush bright red like you did before. Because you know she’ll ask.”

Wirt’s smile was uneven. “That’s more of a reason for me to stay, so I can keep you from opening your big mouth over our personal life.”

She gave him a dismissive blink. “Sure pushover, like _you_ could ever make me do anything.”

Their soft laughter filled the space between them, the playful back and forth of their relationship a comforting reminder of one of the ways they loved, and when Beatrice raised a hand to cup his cheek, he caught it, pressing a kiss against her knuckles instead. “Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire.” Wirt’s brown eyes seemed to glow in the fading light of day. Beatrice loved his eyes, and when he recited Frost to her. She still longed for his own compositions, but for now, this was good enough, and soon a kiss followed that was only interrupted when they were reminded of their present company.

“So, what’s the plan?” Sara yelled. “Or are you just going to continue to make things weird by kissing in front of us?”

“The plan,” Wirt replied, wiping the back of his hand against his mouth. “As always, is Beatrice’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to Leaving-A-Comment for the beta reading.


	10. Chapter 10

Evening brought with it rain, confining Beatrice inside her parents’ home, which wasn’t so much of a problem as Wirt’s absence was. After his erratic behavior during dinner, everyone seemed to have an opinion of him when they learned he had traveled over the wall without Beatrice. Sara offered a distraction, at least for a little while with her stories of life lived in another world, but her family had heard much of it before from Wirt, and soon the conversation died down which was when her missing husband became the choice of topic among some.

“For the last time, I told him to go,” Beatrice explained when she overheard the twins, Alexander and Lydia, developing theories on why Wirt had left.

Alexander stiffened once he realized they’d been caught, but much like her older sister, Lydia was never one to hide her opinion. “Why? You could’ve just left with him. Come back for your things and gone over like you already planned on doing in the morning.”

“Because Sara is here, and I thought Wirt needed time alone with Greg. And why am I even telling you this? It’s none of your business.”

“Well, you’re the one that inserted yourself into _our_ conversation!” Lydia countered.

Sara was beginning to edge away; near the fireplace, Beatrice’s mother spoke a warning using her clucking-hen tone of disapproval.

“She started it!” Lydia and Beatrice’s accusations overlapped as Alexander bolted from their escalating argument.

That was when Andrew, who was being quieter than usual, pulled Beatrice aside. “Use my place to get away from everyone,” he suggested.

“What’s the catch?” she skeptically asked. “It’s not in your nature to be so giving.”

Mild irritation briefly crossed his face. “There is no catch. I’m just trying to help. Remember I offered my home to you and Wirt before? So how is this any different?” Beatrice tried not to overthink his offer, thanked her brother, and followed him through the rain with Sara. “Ladies, welcome to my humble abode,” he said leading them inside his cottage and Beatrice couldn’t decide if he was being sarcastic or was actually trying to sound classy. She fought the urge to mock him, and silently watched as Andrew gathered a few items from around the small room, before stating, “If you need anything, I won’t be far.” He gave a slight nod and then walked back into the drenched world outside, leaving behind his lantern for them to use. Beatrice wondered why he was acting so strange, but then supposed it had been a crazy evening for everyone.

“Wow, your family is a handful,” Sara commented, sitting down in an old rocking chair Beatrice’s mother had used for nursing each of her children. Unneeded, it now belonged to Andrew, and juxtaposed with all the manly touches inside the cottage, it appeared grossly out of place.

“That’s not even all of them. My sister Esther moved out last year after marrying,” Beatrice replied, sitting down on the edge of Andrew’s bed only to find a dirty sock draped across his quilt. She swiftly tossed it out of sight before continuing. “Her husband Peter is a well to do man from the village, which is where they live now in a boring respectable house, where she holds tea parties for all the ladies. My mother absolutely loves it.” Beatrice made a gagging sound. “Meanwhile, I’m the daughter who chose to be with someone my whole family thinks is bizarre. And that I likely am too. You would assume my mother would be somewhat understanding considering she’s actually from the same world as Wirt. And she was at first, but everything’s changed since we moved away. Even Henry, the one person in my family I have a somewhat decent relationship with, has resorted to calling Wirt _jackass_ under his breath.” Beatrice abruptly stopped talking, aware that she’d been prattling on for far too long over what had probably been a passing comment. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go all in on that self-indulgent complaining. I’m sure you didn’t come back with me tonight just to hear me whine.”

Sara smirked. “I like that you’re bizarre. Don’t let anyone make you think that’s a bad quality. And Andrew seems cool with you and Wirt. Well, the little bit I saw before we all went our separate ways.”

Beatrice snorted. “I’ll choose to ignore that terrible misrepresentation of my brother.”

“I know, I know, I’ve heard about how he tried to punch Wirt, like a million times already,” Sara said, feigning annoyance. “But speaking as someone from the outside looking in, he seems different than all those awful stories you’ve told me.” The old wood of the rocking chair squeaked as Sara used her foot to gently sway it back and forth. Combined with the patter of rain just outside, it created a tempo that vaguely reminded Beatrice of a song Wirt loved. She wondered how things were going with him and Greg.

“Maybe you’re right,” she reluctantly admitted and Sara gawked. “What? I have been known to admit when I’m wrong,” Beatrice defended herself, and this time it was Sara who snorted. “Okay well, every once in a while.” Her friend gave a nod of approval. “Anyway, Andrew has been trying to get along with me- at least for the past few hours, ever since we made a truce- and even offered to help Wirt and me in the forest. Although, Wirt being his typical martyr-self didn’t seem appreciative. He wants to shove everyone away and take on the burden alone.”

Beatrice sighed heavily and sniffed, suddenly overwhelmed with a sadness that was most likely triggered by her pregnancy. They’d parted ways amicably, but the underlying strain between husband and wife remained. She wiped the edges of her eyes, able at least for now to keep her tears from overflowing. Crying because she was happy over seeing Sara and Greg was one thing. Crying because of the rift she felt with Wirt was another.

The creak of the chair ceased as Sara came to join Beatrice on the bed. “What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing,” she answered at first, but when Sara looked unamused over the obvious lie, she relented and quickly explained the arrangement they’d come to of her staying here while he took care of the forest alone. “It’s not as if he loves me less,” Beatrice added after noticing Sara’s scowl. “The opposite actually. He’s taking things to extremes, so afraid of losing me that he doesn’t trust himself or even my abilities to help us survive our current life. But what if it’s not enough for him? How would it help me if something happened to him when he was out there alone? He can’t even do the most basic of spells to fight back.”

“It's so strange, isn't it?” Sara stated, after a few seconds of contemplation. "How much he's changed. I mean, he's still the same Wirt ... sensitive, protective of those he loves, and easily embarrassed, but there's this edge to him now. Like how he thinks no one understands what he does and how only _he_ can do it. He keeps pushing people away. I don't get it. And I promise I'm not trying to drag him, it's just ... something's off."

“I know you mean well," Beatrice replied. "And deep down, I've suspected the same as you. But there seems to be no way to reach him. He’s already pretty much rejected Andrew’s offer.”

“I'm sure if we put our heads together we can figure out a way to pull him out of all that doom and gloom he feeds off of,” Sara said, wrapping an arm around Beatrice’s shoulder. "He's just gotta realize that no one's going to be able to keep you under lock and key, and that's he's better off with you than without."

She leaned into Sara, her rain-soaked hair dampening the material of her friend’s shirt. “I feel like such a narcissist for spending all this time talking about my problems when I haven’t even asked how you’re doing. How’s it going with Kale? Probably not as tumultuous as my relationship. I’d love to hear about all the mundane aspects of dating in a world where there aren’t any dark forces trying to infiltrate my marriage.” She shook her head, chuckling a little. “Oh god, I sound like Wirt. Quick, you need to bore me to death with stories about your life before I start reciting dreary poetry.” Beatrice snickered, but Sara stayed quiet. “Okay, I guess my joke wasn’t _that_ funny,” she admitted, lifting her head to see Sara staring down at her fingers and frowning. “What’s wrong?”

A moment of silence passed between them before Sara revealed the reason behind her mood shift. “Kale cheated on me.” Her voice was small; not like the girl Beatrice knew who could take any bad situation and color it bright with a sarcastic quip. “When I confronted him, he said I spent too much time focused on school. But the funny thing is, I really don’t. Nursing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I mean, I know why I went into it- some notion that I wanted to help people because most of my life I’ve been told how my mom might’ve been saved if only someone had been around that night. But I keep asking myself, did I do it because I wanted to, or was it to fulfill some sense that it was expected of me?” A soft sigh escaped her mouth. “Anyway, I think Kale just blurted out whatever excuse popped into his head. If he paid any attention at all, he would’ve realized I wasn’t happy with nursing. The truth is, he just got bored because I’ve gotten boring and have been in a funk for a while.”

Beatrice let Sara talk uninterrupted, partly out of shock and also because she lacked the right words. Over the years they’d been friends, Sara had experienced several breakups and she always bounced right back. “Well, that was a waste of my time,” she’d said more than once with a roll of the eyes and casual flippancy that spoke of someone who was already over it. This time, Sara wasn’t the same. Something had broken in her.

“He always did have a high opinion of himself for someone named after a vegetable,” Beatrice snarked when Sara finally stopped talking, and then offered, “I’ll kick his ass for you.” It wasn’t exactly poignant or deep but did exhibit what she knew Sara appreciated the most about her.

“I’m sure that even in your current baby bump state you could and would,” Sara replied through a chuckle. “But no thanks. I’m not bothered so much by what he did as I am over the realization that I’ve been on auto-pilot for a long time. Maybe, I just need to take a step back and reassess what I want out of life. And dating a cheating dickbag definitely isn’t one of them.”

“Well, you’ll have my shoulder to lean on for a little while at least, and we’ve always been better as a pair,” Beatrice said. “Forget overprotective husbands and cheating boyfriends tonight. We can get by without them.”

“So what do you suggest we do? Normally I’d say let’s get drunk to forget our problems, but I don’t think that’s allowed for you right now.”

“We all know I’m an insufferable drunk anyway,” Beatrice replied. “Unless you like hearing me sing loudly and off-key.”

“No way,” Sara laughed. “And I’m glad you’re finally admitting that you do, in fact, do that.”

Beatrice fluttered her eyelashes and affected a haughty inflection, “Why yes, it is true. As surprising as it may seem, even I have faults.”

Their laughter blended together but stopped abruptly when there was a quick thud, the wet smack of something soft hitting the window. They shared a surprised look and Sara asked, “What was that?”

“Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good,” Beatrice answered, and with Sara at her heel, she picked up the lantern and ran to the door. The rain had let up some, and through the drizzle, the source of the sound was visible. A bluebird had struck the glass and lay stunned on the fallen leaves just below the window.

She went to retrieve it, hearing Sara shout out after her, “Just leave it alone, those things are always covered in germs.”

Ignoring the warning, Beatrice scooped the bird into the skirt of her dress and brought it back inside. “Did you forget I used to be one of these _things_?” she asked, a little bit miffed. “I’m not bothered by their germs.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Sara replied, frowning apologetically. “Must be all those nursing classes. I’m a germaphobe now, apparently.”

Returning to the bed, Beatrice folded her legs, creating a little dip in her skirt for the bird to rest. Gently, she brushed the top of his head with her finger as if he were a pet, and murmured, “Poor little guy.”

Sara moved in beside Beatrice and stared at the tiny form in her lap. “Is it dead?”

“No, just hurt. Possibly, a fractured wing. But maybe I can help.” There was a healing spell she’d used once on Wirt after he broke his toe, and even if he’d complained that his healed foot fit too snugly in its shoe afterward, Beatrice was certain it would work now. The spell wasn’t for fatal injuries, just minor, and thankfully didn’t require any ingredients. A wave of the hand around his wing and some Latin words later, the bluebird perked up and the first thing it did was squeak out a sound Beatrice understood. Her name. Of course, it wasn’t “Beatrice”- no bird could pronounce that- but _bird witch,_ instead. A simple name for the witch who could speak with them. And that’s when she recognized his particular chirp. “Charlie?” she asked. “Is that really you?” He answered _yes_ and Beatrice smiled, while Sara seemed perplexed.

“Uh, you talk to birds now?”

“It’s not as if I flaunt it. Most people think I’m loony enough as is,” she explained before turning back to Charlie. “But why did you fly all the way here?”

Beatrice understood his next sound to be a form of _cold_ , which normally wouldn’t be suspicious- a bird was cold, so it flew to a warmer location- but this was Charlie who lived in the forest. Plummeting temperatures were never a good sign. Prickles moved along her skin as she debated if this was enough for her to seek out Wirt. It was late and even if she could detect the nuances in chirps, sometimes the meaning got distorted in the translation. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t have any worms for you,” she answered when Charlie tweeted _food_ , and then brought her attention to Sara. “I think we might have to cut your visit short.”

“Is Charlie telling you I have to go?” she asked, more tease than question.

“No,” Beatrice said, feeling annoyed with herself for sending Wirt away. If something bad happened to the trees, all the blame would be placed on her shoulders. “We have to go find Wirt. I’m worried that my protection spells aren’t working back in the forest. And if that’s really why Charlie is here, then I’m not sure what will happen, only that it’s likely to end badly if we don’t fix it.”

They were back outside in seconds, rushing to the main house to gather some needed items and a change of clothes for Beatrice. “It sucks we won’t have my car,” Sara mentioned after they’d finished their hasty packing. “I gave my keys to Wirt.”

“It doesn’t matter. As soon as we’re over that wall, your phone will work and we can call Greg,” Beatrice replied, looking out the window to see if it had stopped raining. She pulled the hood of her jacket over her head and ignored the disapproving glance from her mother. Try as she might, the older woman could never get used to Beatrice wearing leggings. Or maybe she was just upset that her capricious daughter kept changing plans.

“Please, be careful,” she said, coming up to Beatrice and Sara as they were about to leave.

There was no judgment in her words, only worry, and it made Beatrice pause. Assuming their situation truly was serious, then leaving on good terms was something she ought to do. “I always am,” she responded, smiling, hoping her joke would ease the anxiety she’d been exuding that had apparently glommed onto the weary parent standing in front of her.

The sigh she released was long-suffering, but Beatrice’s mother followed that with a soft laugh and a kiss on her daughter’s cheek, before instructing everyone else to say goodbye. But one person wasn’t willing to part ways with Beatrice and Sara just yet.

“I’m coming with you,” Andrew announced for the second time that night, running up behind them as they exited the house. “I want to help.”

Beatrice didn’t have it in her to argue and begrudgingly admitted to herself that he might be useful. Still, she needed to show at least some push-back, if only to save face. “Great, first Charlie, now you? How many more are we adding to our group?”

“Who’s Charlie?” Andrew asked, and Sara waved her hand dismissively.

“Beatrice’s pet bird.”

“He is not a pet. He is his own bird and can do as he pleases, and for now, he chooses to be with me.” Placing a hand inside her pocket, Beatrice offered Charlie a nut she’d foraged from her mother's pantry before leaving. He hungrily snatched it from between her fingers. “But that’s not important right now. We need to get to Wirt, and the problem is, I’m not certain you’ll be able to climb over the wall to help us, Andrew.”

Her brother shrugged. “It let Sara cross. Maybe I have a chance too.”

“Maybe,” Beatrice mumbled, dubious, but also curious to see if the force keeping the two worlds separate for all this time had decided to finally make something Andrew said sound logical.


	11. Chapter 11

The last time Wirt had been inside his old junior high, he’d been graduating from eighth grade, grasping a meaningless diploma (who really cared when you graduated from eighth grade anyway) and thinking about finally escaping his misery. Which in retrospect was ironic, considering high school didn’t turn out to be all that great either.

The stale scent of a building bathed in desperation was cemented into his olfactory receptors, and all these years later the odor still permeated the hallways with its thick hopelessness as Wirt walked through them. Sure, they’d put in new flooring and it looked like a fresh coat of paint had been splashed on the walls sometime in the last few years, but it was still the same school Wirt had loathed and made an effort to leave behind for good on graduation day.

Greg, on the other hand, didn’t appear to suffer from the same affliction as him. He moved through the hallways on his way to the gym, with a skip in his step and smile on his makeup smeared face. Excitement and joy surged from every pore. Greg had always been a contrarian force to Wirt’s more melodramatic tendencies, but now it seemed to overwhelm everything around him. How could anyone possibly be so cheerful? It didn’t seem natural. But maybe Wirt had just been away for too long. Hiding in the forest had stripped him of the ability to see happiness as normal, not the kind Greg displayed so effortlessly, anyway.

“H-how long is this thing again?” Wirt asked, feeling his anxiety closing in, although he wasn’t sure why. A girl wearing fake vampire teeth ran past and waved at Greg.

“Hey Emma!” he said and then glanced over his shoulder at Wirt. “I just told you in the car, how’d you forget so fast?” Greg sighed in an exasperated yet teasing way when Wirt shrugged. “It goes till nine. Then Mom’s gonna pick us up and be so surprised to see you. She’ll probably scream. Or cry. Maybe both. Either way she’ll be happy instead of sad for once.”

Greg wasn’t trying to be passive aggressive. Wirt didn’t think his brother even had the ability, but still, the mention of their mom’s sadness made Wirt wince over his guilt for having stayed away so long. “Oh yeah. You did tell me that. Guess I’ve just got a lot on my mind.” Wirt ran a hand through his recently cut hair. Beatrice had taken some scissors to his strands specifically for their visit, informing him that his habit of letting it get shaggy was out of control. The length was still long enough that the ends stuck up, which apparently was the right amount of messy for her. “And so I’m just supposed to stay in the zombie room with you even though I’m not dressed for the part?” Wirt asked Greg.

“Don’t worry. I’ll talk it over with Mrs. Collingsworth, tell her you came into town and wanted to watch your brother who you hardly ever see, do his thing.”

“Your thing. Right,” Wirt mumbled to himself.

“What’s the matter? This is going to be great!” Greg exclaimed and wrapped his arm around Wirt who noticed again how tall his brother had gotten. “You could even play a victim. But not mine. I'm a zombie with a heart, remember?”

“Yeah. Mortimer, right?” The side of Wirt’s mouth pulled up a little, remembering the backstory Greg was going with for his _performance_.

“Yep! So I can’t eat you, but maybe one of my friends will.”

Wirt snorted, thinking how a conversation with his brother at thirteen wasn’t so different from all the rambling far-fetched ideas he’d had as a kid. Well, far-fetched for this side of the wall. “Still the same Greg,” Wirt said, and instinctively ruffled his brother’s hair, making him laugh.

The inside of the gym was divided by metal partitions draped with black curtains that created a twisty maze of cheap thrills while Halloween music played in the background. Greg found his theater teacher mixed in with an area Wirt assumed was supposed to be gothic haunted house themed. A girl wearing a long black dress and her hair pulled back in a bun, stared ominously at him while holding a lantern prop that reminded him of the one Beatrice had lit not so long ago. “Hey Greg, you’re a little late,” Mrs. Collingsworth greeted. “Eleanor is already setting up in the zombie zone, waiting for you.”

“I’m late because my brother surprised me with a visit!” Greg exclaimed, gesturing with his arms towards Wirt as if he were a prize to be won on a game show.

Mrs. Collingsworth eyes widened and a smile spread across her face. “Oh wow, Wirt. It’s been a while,” she said, and Wirt experienced a shock of recognition. He actually knew this teacher. Although, she’d been known as Miss Smith and had taught band back during his junior high days. “How’s my favorite clarinet player doing? Getting to play much anymore?”

“N-no, not so much. You know how life is … responsibilities.”

“I hear that,” she replied, glancing down at a sheet of paper someone handed her and writing something on it, before looking back up at Wirt. “Try teaching band _and_ theater. I never have free time anymore. But it’s worth it just to watch your brother here. You should come and see him when we put on an actual play. Greg can get into a character like no one I’ve seen. Although, I’m only a junior high theater teacher, so not sure my praise holds much weight.”

“Of course it does!” Greg declared in such a dramatic way that both Mrs. Collingsworth and Wirt chuckled.

“Well, I appreciate your vote of confidence, but right now I’ve got a haunted house to open in ten minutes and you need to get to the zombie zone,” she said, pointing at Greg with her pen.

“Can Wirt come too? I think he could play one of the zombie victims.”

Greg’s teacher chewed briefly on the end of her pen. “Sure, why not?” she finally agreed. “It’s a small town. Most people know who you are anyway. Don’t think I’ll get any complaints if I let someone’s visiting brother participate. Where is it you live now, Wirt?”

The phrase “over the wall” got trapped in his throat before he coughed it away and stated, “Pennsylvania. Small town. Y-you wouldn’t even be able to find on a map. Lots of Amish around.” Wirt wanted to kick himself. Three years over the wall and he still hadn’t mastered the art of lying about where he lived. Beatrice was always better at this part than him.

“Wow, you actually moved somewhere smaller than here?”

Wirt lifted and lowered one shoulder. “Eh, what can I say? I like a quiet life.” This actually wasn’t a lie and he was able to say it with ease. If things were different, a quiet life of writing poetry was what he imagined himself doing. Mrs. Collingsworth accepted his story without further inquiry and excused herself to check on- as she put it- the vampire den.

Wirt on the other hand, headed for the zombie zone with Greg leading the way. Once there, he was given a quick makeover consisting of red face paint smeared down one of his cheeks and the side of his neck. It was too late for a costume change, so his current outfit would have to do. Although Eleanor did make a comment about how Wirt looked like a farmer. He hadn’t changed his clothes from the more rustic trousers with suspenders over a white collared shirt that he’d worn for his trip to Beatrice’s parents, and yawned thinking of how long his day had been. Wirt hardly felt like playing a zombie victim for the next three hours, but if it would make his brother happy- and by the large grin on his face, Greg was as joyous as joy could be- Wirt would play along.

But when the bright lights of the gym switched to an even more unnatural tone of neon glow from under a black light, Wirt suddenly felt his anxiety begin to expand inside his chest. The other actors, two boys and three girls he suddenly couldn’t remember the names of even though Greg had introduced them all of five minutes before, took to their roles. Zombie groans and the gurgles of the dying as their lungs filled with blood, froze Wirt on the spot. When his partner, one of the zombie boys, nudged him and said, “Hey man, you gotta act like I’m hurting you,” Wirt couldn’t find his voice. Not even his pretend dying one.

The sounds from inside his head began to drown out the Halloween staple playing over the speakers. Their whispers grew louder, and the last thing Wirt saw before he ran from the zone was Greg coming up to him. Wirt couldn’t hear the words but gathered enough from the movement of his lips to guess Greg was asking what was wrong. But Wirt didn’t answer. He couldn’t and was gone within seconds, tearing through the maze, bumping into vampires, witches, and confused guests who had come for a cheap scare, only to be rudely run into by an escaping man with fake blood on his face. Mrs. Collingsworth was at the entrance, collecting tickets with one of her students. She looked shocked to see Wirt running against the flow of people, and her mouth moved as she edged towards him, but he didn’t stick around to hear what the teacher had to say. Not that he could anyway.

Wirt continued at a quick pace until he found solitude inside Sara’s car, locked himself inside and rested his head against the cool rubber of the steering wheel. Here he hoped to clear his head from the whispers and to regain some sense of control over the raging beast of anxiety and depression that had weighed him down for so long now. Something had triggered it inside the gym. The lights. The images of evil. The fake death. He wasn’t sure, only that it was enough for him to need escape. Yet even away from those bleak images, his demons continued to haunt him. Nothing worked. And why should it? His situation was more precarious because of Beatrice. He had more at stake, more to lose. Even over the wall, the weight of responsibility still crushed him.

Then suddenly, Wirt felt a faint sensation, a trace of worry that wasn't his own. Where his was self-loathing and defeated, this one was interwoven with love. Slowly, the emotion grew, and instead of running away like his mind told him to, he stayed. “Greg," Wirt whispered, puzzled at this new development. Before it had been only Beatrice, but now his brother’s emotions were apparently palpable to him as well. And as soon as his name was out of Wirt’s mouth, Greg appeared at the driver’s side window, looking worried and then relieved before entering the vehicle from the passenger side.

“Why'd you run out like that?” he asked. “Everyone's worried.”

Wirt groaned and sat back in his seat. “Great,” he mumbled bitterly against his hands while running them down his face. “Another meltdown for everyone to remember me by. Well, tell them to save their concern, it’s not like any of them could understand anyway.”

"What makes you think that about me? That I don’t understand? You said the same thing the last time you were here, but it isn't true.”

The question caught Wirt off guard, and he twisted his head to stare at Greg. His brother’s face displayed concern, but there was a slight defiance in his eyes. “No offense, Greg, I didn’t mean you personally, but my life _is_ completely different than yours and your fake zombie friends in there. None of you would get it. The things I have to deal with.”

The words were supposed to speak to Greg’s reason, but they came out sounding condescending instead, and the defiance in his brother’s eyes spread out to the rest of his face. ”Ask me about that night with The Beast. You always bring it up as a warning, but never ask me what I remember or how it makes me feel.”

Wirt shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You’ve never wanted to talk about it. To be honest, I always figured you didn’t remember much from that night.”

“I never talked about it, because you told me not to.”

“I don’t remember saying that,” Wirt replied but thought he might know where Greg was going with this, and his stomach clenched.

“Yes, you did. Right after we got back. You said- _don’t tell anyone what happened or they’ll send us to crazy town_. Then I said, _crazy town doesn’t sound_ _so bad_ and you told me it was a place where they locked you up. I know now you meant a psych ward, but at seven, I took what you said as actually lock you up, like in jail. I thought the police might come for me. And you know what, I still haven’t talked about it. But I remember. I remember feeling cold. I remember his deep voice. I used to hear it every night before I went to bed.” Greg trailed off as he turned to look out the window, his shoulders sagging.

Wirt sighed, the truth of the damage he’d caused was sitting right across from him, revealing itself for the first time. Keeping Greg silent hadn’t been just about safety, but also for Wirt’s own mental well-being.

He hardly ever mentioned Greg’s near transformation into an edelwood. Over the years, Beatrice had coaxed some memories from him, usually when he was feeling vulnerable and needed reassurance that nothing like that would ever happen again. There had been moments with Sara too. But never with his brother. That was too painful. Until recently, forgetting had been Wirt’s coping mechanism. For someone like Greg though, who spoke nearly every thought that entered his brain, talking was probably the thing he needed most. And Wirt had taken that away from him. “You never told me that’s how you felt,” he managed to say after swallowing the lump in his throat.

“You never asked.” Greg was still staring out the window at the empty car parked next to them.

“Usually I don’t have to. You just tell everyone everything, no matter what.” Wirt’s attempt at levity fell with a hard thud, so he tried another approach. “Look, I’m sorry, Greg. I really am. It’s not fair that I never talked about what happened, with you,” he finally said. “And I didn’t just do it about The Beast. I also made you keep Beatrice a secret, hiding her and then lying about where she came from. You were always so ready to do whatever needed to be done, and except for the occasional slip-up, you did what I asked. But I never asked what _you_ wanted. A-and I was probably taking advantage of how much you looked up to me.” Wirt sucked in a ragged breath and the sound brought Greg’s attention back to him. He kept quiet for a few moments, trying to find the courage buried deep within, and sensed his brother’s emotions- unsure and brooding- fill the space between them. “Beatrice and I we’re … well, we’re trying this new thing of not hiding stuff from everyone anymore, and so if you need to talk to me about that night then … I’m here for you. Just know that sometimes I need to take a step back from thinking about it. Especially now with everything that’s going on. Reaching into the past and remembering can trigger my anxiety, just like it did inside the gym.”   

“What’s everything that’s going on?” Greg asked, and Wirt shook his head.

“It’s complicated, and I’d rather Beatrice be here when we tell everyone. She’s already angry at Andrew for breaking the news twice and I refuse to be put in the same category as him.” Wirt snorted, crossing his arms across his chest.

Greg blinked. There was a beat of silence, followed by his large grin as he made a high-pitched noise of excitement. “Is Beatrice having a baby?”

Wirt hesitated, debated lying, and then let out a cheerless chuckle. “I shouldn’t have said anything. She’s gonna kill me.”

“I’ll keep it a secret. Promise!” Greg made a motion like he was zipping up his lips. “Even better … a zombie’s promise.”

“Suuuure.” Wirt’s response was drenched in disbelief, before he changed the subject by asking, “So, Mortimer, where should we go? You want to head back inside. I’d be willing to try again,” he offered. “Not sure anyone wants me to though. Crazy guy running through the maze wasn’t one of the areas of fright was it, ‘cause I’d be perfect for it.”

Greg laughed and then shook his head. Reaching up, he smeared half his face makeup away. “I don’t wanna trigger your anxiety again. Why don’t we just go home? Make mom happy. Dad too. Then if you’re up for it we can talk about that night. Just you and me, over some of mom's cookies? She's been up to her usual cookie baking madness just like every Halloween.”

A small smile broke free on Wirt’s lips. “I like that plan a lot,” he replied.

_Two brothers bonding over their shared trauma. What could be more fitting for someone like me?_


	12. Chapter 12

Sara stared up the wall, feeling the cold hand of irony smacking her hard across the face. All those years spent wanting to climb over and after only a few hours, she was heading back home, her time on Beatrice’s side done. Like most things concerning Wirt and Beatrice, her visit had been interrupted by one of those odd occurrences that seemed to only happen to them. Sara considered herself open-minded when it came to the supernatural, and when Beatrice had confessed the true story of how she met Wirt, she’d accepted it with only a hint of skepticism. Sometimes though, the spectacle of Wirt and Beatrice’s life seemed like a strange dream that even she struggled with believing. The difference this time was in Sara’s ability to participate in their spectacle. The wall had given her an inside into their weird world and she was now off on an adventure alongside her friend.

And her friend’s brother … who at that moment was carefully watching his sister maneuver up the wall. Andrew’s mouth was tight, and his eyes were focused with worry, which left an opening for Sara to study him. For the first time, she was getting a good look at the person Beatrice had once described as- “a meathead lacking a soul”. But that clearly had been an exaggeration. Andrew’s gesture to let them use his place and willingness to protect his older sister, painted over the original picture Sara had pieced together of him from all of Beatrice’s horrible stories.

That old image she’d envisioned had fleshed out Andrew’s unpleasant attitude into his appearance- because naturally, a bully would be ugly- but staring at him by the light of the lantern at their feet, it was clear that wasn’t the case at all. He was decent looking, with a strong jaw and broad face combo, that had Sara wondering if he got many _Heath Ledger_ comparisons until she remembered that Andrew and anyone in his orbit wouldn’t know who that was. Still, the few times she’d seen him happy and not anxious or arguing with Beatrice, his smile lines had been deep, like parentheses on either side of his face, which instantly brought the actor to mind.

Currently though, that smile wasn’t anywhere to be seen as Andrew yelled up to Beatrice, “Be careful. You almost slipped!”

“I did not!” his sister called back down, her voice nearly a growl. “I’ve climbed up this wall a thousand times. I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, but that was before the baby,” Andrew reminded. “Your sense of balance might be off. That happened to Mother, remember?”

“Well, if you’re going to bring Mother into this, you ought to know that you sound just like her, so give it a rest. I’m fine.”

“You won’t be fine if you fall and I have to catch you.”

Beatrice swore at her brother and Sara couldn’t stop herself from laughing over their bickering. This caught Andrew’s attention and after turning to look at her he said, “She’s so stubborn.”

His complaint seemingly proved Beatrice’s point, since it came out sounding like the lament of a weary parent, a role Sara knew all too well. “Tell me about it.” She let out a little snort of agreement. “Sometimes it works in her favor- she gets what she wants by refusing to give in- but other times I have to rescue her from the holes she digs herself into.”

“Glad to meet someone who finally understands,” Andrew said, his wide smile returning, the shadows cast by the lantern making the lines on his face appear deeper. “She thinks I’m a jerk, but most of the time it’s me trying to stop her from doing something stupid.”

“Funny, she’s been saying the same thing about you for years,” Sara revealed with a smirk.

“Beatrice mentioned me to you before?” Andrew asked after a pause, his smile now a guilty grimace. “Can’t imagine any of it’s been good.”

“I got the rundown on you a long time ago,” Sara replied and Andrew’s head dipped. He looked ashamed. “But, you know, a lot of what Beatrice says is just her making a mountain out of a molehill.”

Andrew’s forehead creased. “Huh?”

“That means, she likes to take small disagreements and make them bigger than they are. Part of that stubbornness in never wanting to admit she’s wrong. It makes the other person seem worse. So don’t worry.” Sara nudged Andrew’s shoulder. “I won’t judge you based on Beatrice’s exaggerations.”

Andrew momentarily stared at the spot Sara's fist had bumped, before meeting her gaze again. “That’s good to know because I’m sure only about half of what's she's told you is true.”

“So that means you’re only half bad then, like when you nearly attacked me earlier,” she responded and Andrew softly laughed, showing off that wide smile again.

“I think that was my good side, trying to protect my sister and all, right?” he pointed out.

“Yeah, from big scary me.” Sara bared her teeth and playfully growled while bringing her hands up to imitate claws.

“Oh, wow. What was I thinking before? You couldn’t even scare my little sister,” he teased and Sara chuckled, lowering her hands. “But I promise,” he continued, nudging her shoulder like she had his. “If there is a bad side to me, I’ll try to keep it in check.” Slowly his grin turned lopsided as he added, “but only to prove Beatrice wrong.”

“What the hell is going on down there?” The shout from above caused them both to glance up at Beatrice sitting on the wall’s edge; the fake fire glowing just above her palm, illuminated her sour expression. “Did you forget we’ve got an emergency on our hands? No time to chat!”

Sara suddenly felt self-conscious and wondered how her sense of urgency had managed to veer off course so easily, while Andrew appeared to be just as uncomfortable with Beatrice calling them out. “Right, we should go,” she told him.

He nodded and motioned for Sara to climb first. “To make sure you get up safely,” he explained. Even though it felt antiquated to need a man’s protection, Sara didn’t argue. Up she climbed and after reaching the top of the wall, she scooted in next to Beatrice. “Sorry for taking so long.”

“What were you two even talking about?”

“You,” Sara replied honestly.

“Of course, and I’m sure he’s the one who brought it up. I swear Andrew is being such a mother hen,” Beatrice huffed, her nostrils flaring. “I’m tired of it. I should’ve told him to stay home.”

The urge to defend Andrew rose in her chest, but Sara pushed it down. It wasn’t the right time to offer Beatrice a differing opinion. Her friend’s anxiety was at a level she’d only ever seen in Wirt. The difference being that his anxiety usually immobilized him, while Beatrice’s provoked her temper. “Well, you might get your way. We still don’t even know if he’ll be able to cross to my side,” Sara said and glancing over her shoulder, she saw that at least she'd be able to. The graveyard was just below; the spot where Greg had stood with her a few hours before, glowed from a lamp post shining down on it. A grunt from Andrew brought her focus back around. He was almost to the top and after reaching the ledge, he sat down, but then swung his legs to the opposite side. “What do you see?” Sara asked him.

“Gravestones. So many. And lights. Like yours, Beatrice. But on tall sticks.”

Sara wasn’t sure what a person might see if they weren’t viewing her world, but it must not have been what Andrew described, because Beatrice released an exasperated sigh before saying, “Well, I guess you’ll be coming with us after all.”

“Great,” Andrew said, sharing a brief smile with Sara that Beatrice just missed when she looked down into her pocket and spoke something to her bird, Charlie.

A weird conversation consisting of words and tweets continued on for a few seconds before ending with Beatrice saying, “I know.” When she began inching down the wall, Andrew spoke up, saying he should go first, but his sister ignored him and made her way down to the ground.

Sara quickly followed with Andrew close behind, and when the soft crunch of brittle leaves beneath her shoes announced her arrival back home, she reached for her phone to call Greg but gawked after seeing the screen. “That’s weird,” she muttered.

“What?” Beatrice and Andrew asked.

“No service. Not even the lowest possible denominator. It’s just all gone. Like the cell tower just stopped working.”

Beatrice groaned while Andrew stayed silent with confusion written on his face. This was probably going to happen a lot. “I’m talking about my phone.” She lifted it for him to see. “It’s a communication device. I can talk to people on it. Well, just not now-”

“He knows what a phone is, Sara,” Beatrice snapped and then her voice transitioned into a whine, “What are we going to do?”

“The only thing we can. We’ll walk,” she replied.

“Walk?” Beatrice let out a loud noise of frustration that bordered on a howl. “But I need to get to Wirt now. I have no idea how bad things are back in the forest. He needs to know. I-I can’t go back and deal with this on my own.”

“And so we’ll tell him,” Sara replied matter-of-factly, wrapping an arm around her friend’s shoulders, trying to calm her. “It’s not far. Wirt used to walk here all the time, remember?”

“Yeah, but-”

“I promise, we’ll find him. And even if he’s not at his parents, they have a phone. This is only a small detour.” Sara pulled Beatrice closer until she folded into her like a child, the role of the weary parent taking over again, especially when Beatrice’s anxiety crumbled into despair and she began crying. “Walking will get us to Wirt,” Sara assured, while stroking Beatrice’s back, then glancing over at Andrew she saw him looking apprehensive. This was a side Beatrice rarely showed others, and Sara assumed that included her family. Watching his sister’s breakdown must’ve unnerved him. ‘ _She’s okay’_ Sara mouthed, but truthfully didn’t know if this was the case. She could only hope. “It’s not like you guys haven’t faced worse before and come out alright. And besides, how reliable can a bird be anyway?”

Beatrice pulled away and glared, giving Sara the reaction she’d tried to rile. Her friend’s anger was always more of a motivator than sadness. “Watch it, before I show you just how reliable a bird can be at decking her friend.”

“Some friend,” Sara snorted, playfully indignant. “And so who is the bird in this scenario? You? Are you identifying as one again? I think Charlie might’ve gotten inside your head a little bit.”

Beatrice pushed Sara away, but by now they were both smiling, and after giving Andrew a quick one over, she saw that he was timidly grinning too. Although, his eyes still flashed wariness, and Sara decided to speed things along to take both of their minds off the weight bearing them down- Beatrice’s anxiety over Wirt and Andrew’s over his sister. “We should leave. I’m sure we’re not even supposed to be in the cemetery this late at night. In fact, I _know_ we’re not due to spending so many Halloween nights getting shouted out of here.”

Beatrice swiped at the last remaining tears on her face and straightened, brushing off her mini-meltdown. “Let’s go,” she stated with renewed focus. But just as they began walking towards the exit, a voice from behind startled them to a halt.

“Hey! What’re you three doing here so late?”


	13. Chapter 13

The voice was angry and familiar. Angry, because that was the way this person typically spoke to everyone he encountered. And familiar, due to Beatrice spending an unhealthy amount of time in a cemetery during her adolescence. When the only avenue to your boyfriend was climbing over a wall with a cemetery on the other side, you spent an inordinate amount of time getting to know that cemetery's caretaker. A caretaker who was now angrily asking why she was there.

Beatrice turned around, ready to explain herself, yet wasn’t able to get a word out, before Marty sputtered, “It’s you. Y-you came back!” The relief on his face was fighting against his grim features, in what looked like an attempted smile. Wrinkles pushing against wrinkles. “Well, of course, Beatrice came back. I knew she would,” he continued, transitioning into a one-sided conversation with himself. “That Sara girl told me she would, and then I felt it. Something strange. Seems only right she'd show up now.”

“Uh, do you know this rambling old man?” Andrew whispered to Beatrice. “Because if not, we should leave before he does something crazy.”

“I ain’t crazy,” Marty snapped, and then stated defiantly, “She knows me.” He pointed at Beatrice and then swung his finger to single out Sara. “So does she. But you ...” He moved in closer, inches from Andrew’s face. “You, I don’t know.”

Beatrice could sense a confrontation brewing and quickly maneuvered her body between the two male hotheads. “It’s great to see you again, Marty,” she said surprising him with a quick hug to cool down the growing tension. “Marty, this is my brother, Andrew.” She pulled away and made a little flourish with her hand, then reversed it. “Andrew, this is Marty. He works at this cemetery.” The two men eyed each other but didn’t follow up with a customary handshake, and Beatrice fought the urge to groan in frustration. This wasn’t the time for some battle over their manly prowess. “Now that we’re all caught up,” Beatrice paused to nudge Andrew a step backward, “We’ve got to be going. I’m sorry, Marty, we’re in a hurry, so I’ll have to catch up with you later, okay?”

She whirled on her heel and began walking towards the exit again, expecting the others to follow. “Wait,” Marty called out and Beatrice halted. “He’s your brother? From over the wall? How’d he do that?”

Normally, she wouldn’t be so curt with Marty. Especially after not having seen him in so long. But there wasn't any time for long explanations. “Marty," she said, turning back around. "A lot of strange things have happened in the last couple of hours and-"

“That’s for sure,” he interrupted. “Something's gonna happen. Big. I can feel it in these old bones of mine.”

She exhaled, mentally debating if it was wise to indulge him. Was this one of his crazy old man rants or a rare moment of clarity? Those were few and far between. Still, he _had_ been right about the garden wall, and he’d also found her grandparents. To most everyone else, he was Marty the loony cemetery caretaker. A senile old man who spouted nonsense. But to Beatrice, he was a friend who could at times be insightful.

From inside her pocket, Charlie chirped a broken phrase- _talk him_ \- and it became the deciding factor. With a shake of her head, Beatrice relented. “What do you mean, Marty? What do you think is happening?”

“Can’t really say. Just that there’s somethin' going on. Like before a storm hits. A charge in the air. And now you show up. It fits.”

“Excuse me, are you referring to my sister as a storm?” Andrew interjected.

“Kinda,” Marty answered, that weird smile of his returning.

Beatrice took the comparison as a compliment, the corners of her mouth twitching upward as the start of a smile began forming. But, it faltered mid-grin when a thought occurred. They needed to find Wirt fast to figure out whatever this storm and cold were that Marty and Charlie kept referencing. In this world, people got around faster in vehicles, which Beatrice, unfortunately, lacked at the moment. But Marty did have a rickety old truck she’d seen him in a few times. “I think you might be right,” Beatrice told him. “The wall seems to be letting more people cross over and I’m not sure what it means.”

“Maybe one of the universes is breaking down, trying to take over another,” Marty suggested.

“Well, if that is what’s happening then we need to move fast, and I think you might be able to help us.”

“I can?” Marty lifted his chin and placed his hands on his hips, and Beatrice held back a snicker over his very obvious imitation of a superhero. “I’ll do whatever ya need me to.”

“Do you think you could give us a ride?”

* * *

 

Marty believed in the theory of multiple universes. And not just the two he was already aware of. According to him, there were an infinite amount of universes out there. It was an idea he’d gone over with Beatrice more than once. “It just makes sense,” he’d told her. “Why would there be just two? There’s gotta be other doors. Maybe another wall somewhere or even another man like me who’s seen people cross over.”

“That can’t possibly be true,” Beatrice had replied.

“And why not?”

“Because there’s no way someone else like you exists out there. You’re too unique.”

Marty tugged on one of her curls. “Right back at ya, kid.”

Now sitting in the passenger seat of his truck, with Sara and Andrew squeezed in the back, Marty repeated his theory with more passion than Beatrice had ever heard him use before. He just knew it all had to be true. Wirt, on the other hand, had his own theory; that the wall brought him and Beatrice together for a greater purpose, and that purpose was the forest. But what if that wasn’t the case? What if the wall hadn’t actually facilitated their relationship for a reason? What if they were just a fluke, some random occurrence? Beatrice wasn’t sure who was right. Marty or Wirt. Maybe neither of them. What was apparent though, was that barriers were beginning to break down. Sara had crossed over. So had Andrew and Greg. How was it possible? Was it connected with the cold back in the forest?

When Beatrice brought Charlie into the conversation, asking what he thought, Marty laughed and nearly drove off the road. A scream from Andrew startled Beatrice more than the actual sidewalk-curb collision, and she was reminded that it was her brother’s first ride in something other than a horse-drawn cart. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she saw Sara rubbing his back, reassuring him that everything was fine.

“Can you please tell your friend to keep this _thing_ from killing us?” he asked exasperatedly when their eyes met. Beatrice smirked and thought the bump they hit next might’ve been intentional. “Hey!” Andrew cried. “My sister is pregnant. You should take better care to keep her safe in this death trap of yours.”

Beatrice narrowed her eyes at her brother. Maybe he did actually care about her safety, but this felt more like a show of cowardice. Hiding behind her to save himself. Marty would be forced to drive slowly, and Beatrice would be stuck relating the news she’d wanted to keep hidden. Whenever anyone found out about the baby, it pulled her down a rabbit hole of discussing a topic that she honestly hadn’t come to terms with completely. The baby she was fine with. The way everyone treated her because of her current state, not so much. And Marty was no exception either. He spent the rest of the ride doting on her and she half-heartedly indulged the idea of striking Andrew on the nose again.

After arriving outside Wirt’s childhood home, Beatrice noticed a change. The night air felt heavy and stagnant as if she were walking towards the front door through mud. She thought maybe it was her imagination or one of those _wonderful_ new side effects of being pregnant, until Marty mentioned it too. “Feels like we’re walkin' in slow motion, don’t it?” he asked.

Charlie flew from Beatrice’s pocket to perch on her shoulder. “Yeah, it does,” she replied and turned to see if Sara and Andrew were experiencing the same sensation. They were lagging behind, but not from an unseen force. Their heads were inclined towards one another as they moved and spoke far too low for Beatrice to hear. _What are they doing? Talking about me again?_ She harrumphed.

“It’s just like I told ya,” Marty said, shattering through Beatrice’s speculation over her brother and best friend. “I feel it in my bones. Whatever this is, it’s gettin’ worse.” He guided her forward, a gentle push on her back. She didn’t exactly need the help and assumed this was yet another instance of pregnancy creating the perception that she was made of glass. Quickening her pace, Beatrice escaped Marty’s codling and reached the front entrance before everyone else. The familiar sound of the doorbell filled her ears as she pressed down on it, and a moment later Ben stood in the doorway, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Beatrice!” He gazed over her head. “And … the elderly man from your wedding reception?” Marty responded with a grunt. “We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow. Well, you,” Ben pointed at Beatrice, “Not uh ...”

“Marty,” she filled in for him. “I wasn’t expecting to be here either, but things have changed.” She walked through the doorway, and Ben widened his eyes as her other companions followed, filling up a foyer that smelled of freshly baked cookies. Wirt’s mom must’ve been baking. “Ben, this is my brother Andrew, and of course, you know Sara.”

Sara waved. “Hey, Mr. H.”

“Your brother?” Ben scratched his receding hairline.

Beatrice sighed; her night was getting a bit repetitive. “Yes, he came from over the wall. And yes, that is strange, and exactly the reason I need to find Wirt. Is he here?”

But Ben didn’t have to answer; Beatrice was already aware of Wirt’s emotions. They prickled her senses, similar to a breeze gliding over her skin, and seconds later he entered the already crowded foyer from the kitchen. Greg followed behind, a ring of chocolate surrounding his mouth that grew into a smile when he saw her. “Hey!” he shouted, but Wirt was much less excited. His calm rushed from the room the moment he saw her, replaced with worry so palpable Beatrice stiffened.

“What’s going on? Why are you here?” His gaze swept over their group. “You brought Marty? Oh, no. This can’t be good.” Marty grunted again, more guttural this time and Wirt went on the defensive. “I-I didn’t mean it that way, only that you wouldn’t normally be here. And neither would you.” Wirt motioned towards Andrew. “Or … is that Charlie?”

The bird chirped _yes_ , and Beatrice related back to her husband the events that had taken place since Charlie smacked against the window an hour ago in what now felt like ages.

Wirt’s lips became taut as she spoke and his emotions hardened into a mixture of anxiety and determination that manifested in a demand. “You're going back to your parents right away, and I’ll head to the forest alone from there.” He was already pulling on his coat, and watching his fast pace caused the sharp sting of truth to slice right through Beatrice. This wasn’t a committee she’d assembled to help decide what was best to do about the situation. This was him making a choice for her. Again, Wirt was weighing himself down with responsibility without any thought of asking his family and friends for help. Her martyr husband would never change. Ever.

 _No_. Beatrice felt her own hard determination. _Not this time_.

“I’m not going to stay with my parents.” She folded her arms across her chest and Wirt groaned with irritation.

“We don’t have time for this. I need to get you safe before something happens.” He wasn’t even looking at her, just going through the motions of gathering his things, like her opinion didn’t matter. “I really wish you would’ve called me from the cemetery and then I could’ve met you at the wall,” Wirt complained. “We lost valuable time.”

“Sara’s phone wasn’t working. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve made up my mind. I’m going with you back to the forest. You can’t stop me.”

“Beatrice, stop being so stubborn.”

“Who’s being stubborn? As if you’re the only one who can decide my fate for me.”

“What about the baby?”

“I can take care of myself and our child.”

There was a gasp from Ben who seemed to be the only one who didn’t know yet about her pregnancy, and Charlie flew back in her pocket. The room grew deathly quiet; like usual, they were at an impasse. One that was only broken when Wirt’s mom walked in on the tense scene, holding a plate of cookies. “I heard we had company and thought …” She stopped abruptly and from the corner of her eye, Beatrice saw Ben give a quick shake of the head.

“What if we all went with you? Nothing says that you have to do this alone,” Beatrice suggested softly, finally breaking the silence with a change in tactic. “We’re stronger in numbers.”

“Yeah! I’ll go too!” Greg chimed in, and Beatrice let out a slow breath of exasperation. Involving Greg was a sure fire way to get Wirt _not_ to agree.

“No way in hell will I ever allow you to go over the wall now,” Wirt stated, giving his brother an icy stare.

“But I thought things had changed. We finally talked about what happened, a-and I want to help. I'm old enough now.” Greg's stricken look did little to budge Wirt’s resolve.

“Not a chance.”

“Now, Wirt. Don’t cha think you’re being a bit harsh? Greg and Beatrice have a point. Ya need all the help ya can git. The universes are creepin’ in on each other.”

Wirt threw his hand up in the air. “Who even invited you into this conversation?”

“Wirt!” Beatrice scolded. “Marty was kind enough to give us a ride and he’s helped us out in the past.” She took hold of his elbow and ordered, “Come with me,” forcing him to walk into the kitchen with her where they could be alone.

“I’m not changing my mind,” Wirt reiterated after they were out of earshot from the others.

“Naturally,” Beatrice’s said, her sarcasm bitter. “Just when did you get this way? So sure that you, and only you, are supposed to keep the forest safe. Not so long ago, you told me that we were meant for something great, but it seems _we_ has turned into _you_.” When Wirt opened his mouth to protest, Beatrice spoke over him. “And you can say all you want that it comes from some need to protect me, but I don’t believe it. You refuse to let anyone help. And I’m starting to think someone or thing wants you back there alone.”

Wirt scoffed. “You sound like Marty. Crazy conspiracy theories.”

“And what’s so bad about that? He’s been right before. He can help us if you would only listen. Why won't you listen?”

“Stop it! Just stop.” Wirt’s order came out strong but devolved from determined to miserable in the same breath. “You don’t understand. It’s my responsibility. The trees ... in my head …” His voice cracked and Beatrice grasped his hands.

“Then help me understand!”

Wirt's eyes welled with tears as anxiety and depression suffocated the space between them. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Tried once more, but the lights flickered in the kitchen, pulling both their attention away from each other. “What?” Wirt whispered, his eyes darting around the room. Beatrice wasn’t sure who he was speaking to, and an icy chill traveled down her spine. She shivered.

The next moment was one Beatrice would agonize over for a long time afterward, trying to recall anything that might unearth a clue as to what happened. But she came to the same conclusion every time. Wirt was just gone. His hands were in hers one moment and then not. Disappeared into nothingness. And when she cried out his name, only a thick silence answered just before the lights flickered once more and then went out completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh I wasn't sure if I would pick this story up again. The task of writing a long fic in a series of 8 for a small fandom and even smaller pairing became daunting. I had a story I wanted to write, but a lack of motivation. These lulls in my desire to work on this story will probably continue, but I decided I do want to finish it. I've gotten this far and there is a story I want to tell. It's likely though, that it won't be my top priority. Updates will be less often. But I won't abandon it.
> 
> The next chapter (whenever I get to it) will have a time jump. Consider this the end of Part 1.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much of a chapter, but school is kicking my butt and I don't have much time to write on top of the fact that this story doesn't get much traffic. But I wanted to put something up for those nice enough to leave a comment on my last chapter. I really do appreciate the small audience that continues to read this story. Consider this a transitional chapter, not much info is given, but you get a vague idea of the change that's happened since the last chapter.

The silent landscape spoke with such a quiet hum that Wirt heard only loudness. A profound oxymoron that had he been in a different headspace, it might’ve inspired him to spout poetry. Verses that would no doubt resemble _Poe_ rather than _Frost_. The silence was suffocating and after so many years of hearing the continuous flow of whispers, the sharp reversal to nothing was disturbing.

Wirt existed. Somewhere. Anywhere. And without Beatrice. Without anyone. For days. Weeks. Months. He couldn’t really tell. It transitioned from light to dark, but there was no way to know if this shift was from the earth’s rotation. Perhaps it was entirely in his mind. He had no need to eat or sleep. Just wander. A pilgrimage … but to where? Nowhere.

It was becoming more difficult to hold himself together as time went on. Once, when he looked up and met the eyes of a bird, watching him from the branch of a dead tree, Wirt swore it was Beatrice in her old form, covered in blue feathers. But it couldn’t be. She was only an illusion his mind conjured to help keep him sane. _Hallucinations are not sane_ , Wirt reminded himself as he moved on.

All the trees were dead. Dead and quiet, stretching on for an eternity. Not a single living soul. Just him. And whether he was living or dead, Wirt didn’t spend too much time contemplating. What did it matter? He was here and as far as he could tell, there was no escape. Once he cried out just to hear something. A sound of horror to comfort him. Another oxymoron. But it worked. He felt less alone for that brief moment his ill-used vocal cords rattled to life again. Sometimes he wept. That worked too, although was less comforting. If tears were falling from his eyes, that usually meant he was thinking too much. Better not to dwell on those he missed. Wirt found mumbling song lyrics was a remedy to the stillness, but his list of acceptable music was short. Most songs he loved connected back to another love … Beatrice. And he couldn’t torture himself with thoughts of her.

Always, he moved. Walking. His feet never ceasing. An endless journey of emptiness. “My name is Wirt,” he began saying over and over as if maybe he might forget. Some days it felt as if he already had.

* * *

 

When Beatrice thought of all the ways her life had changed since Wirt left, she inevitably always came back around to Sara. For most of their time as friends, Sara had been a sporadic figure. Here one day, gone the next. It was the nature of their relationship. They were close, but also lived separate lives and Wirt was what brought them together. Oddly enough, it took him disappearing for Sara to remain by her side. Steady. There every day. With Wirt no longer serving as their tether, she found another reason to stay. To take care of Beatrice.

“I dreamt last night that I saw my dad,” Sara whispered to her one evening. They were in the living room of Wirt’s parents’ home. The sun was waning outside and Beatrice had gone around each room, using her magic to light candles one by one, before sitting down on the couch in front of the now useless TV. Sometimes Sara would tell stories as a replacement for the dead entertainment system. They always tied back to a plot of a movie most of them had seen before. All except Andrew. Later, like clockwork, Greg would ask her to create a ball of light to work alongside the candles. It made him feel safer. “He was working,” Sara continued explaining her dream, “and barely even acknowledged me.” She laughed, but it sounded humorless. “So just like normal, right?”

“I’m sure he’s not actually working now and is probably worried about you,” Beatrice gently disagreed, not really knowing why. Maybe she just missed her own family and didn’t want Sara to lose hope, even if it was delivered in her distinctive sarcastic way.

“Maybe, but it doesn’t matter, does it?” There was a slight edge to Sara’s voice. “It was just a dream. What _does_ matter is the here and now? And you.” She eyed Beatrice’s stomach.

Yes, that was growing marginally bigger each day. Sara kept reminding her. Always a mother hen. “I’m fine,” Beatrice said, but it came out sounding unconvincing. After a month spent hiding inside, their small group was running out of food, but too afraid to leave, fearing what happened to Ben might be repeated. Sara’s education in nursing was the only thing that had saved him. Since then, Beatrice’s protective spells had worked to keep them safe, but eventually, they would have to venture outside for supplies and make a plan that entailed something other than just their current state of reclusion. Hiding away from the monsters didn’t make them go away. Those creatures stalked them, unable to come in, yet making it nearly impossible for anyone inside to leave.

A clatter brought their attention towards the entryway. Beatrice stiffened but relaxed when she saw Andrew grimacing as he reached down to right the photo frame he’d knocked over on the end table. It was one of the few pictures Beatrice hadn’t removed. Being trapped inside Wirt’s childhood home meant images of him were everywhere. After a week, she couldn’t take him staring at her from all corners of the house and in a moment of grief, had removed them. Him as a baby, his high school graduation, their posed wedding photo placed inside an ornate frame they had given Wirt's family as a present, all ended up in a pile on the floor along with an assortment of others. Wirt’s mother had stared in shock during Beatrice’s outburst, tears streaming down her face. Her temperament was similar to Wirt’s. Soft and caring, and in the face of her daughter in law’s rage, she froze. Afterward, the pictures had disappeared. Sara later told her that Wirt’s mom had taken them into her room. Since then, Beatrice hadn’t seen a single image of her missing husband. Except for the ones that haunted her memories.

“Always as stealthy as ever,” Sara commented to Andrew, a knowing smile on her lips and then affecting an accent that sounded much too serious, she added, “I’m sorry to say that you won’t be joining us on the reconnaissance mission. The chief has benched you for your constant clumsiness.”

A corner of Andrew’s mouth inched upward as his brow furrowed. This was a sign he didn’t understand the reference. It was funny how much of her brother’s body language she’d picked up on since they were forced into each other’s company. He and Sara had developed a weird way of communicating that kept them sane. She’d spout some pop-culture reference and he would try to guess what it was from based on her nightly stories.

“That’s the uh, the story you told about missions and stuff … the uh ... _Mission Impossible?_ ” Andrew asked, sitting down beside her.

“Actually, I made that one up.”

“That’s not fair,” Andrew grumbled, nudging her shoulder.

“Gotta amuse myself somehow,” she replied.

“By torturing me with your lies?”

They softly giggled as their argument transitioned into some playful wrestling, and Beatrice’s hand drifted to her stomach. Their way of pretending nothing was wrong always had the opposite effect on her. Happiness was jarring against the truth of their reality. “Are you okay?” Sara asked, noticing Beatrice’s hand placement, all traces of humor gone from her voice. She assumed the protective mother role again.

“Actually, I think I’m going to lie down.” Beatrice stood and Sara mirrored her movements.

“Want me to come with you?”

“No, I’m just tired. And I have a headache.” She rubbed her temple for emphasis, even though it was fine.

Upstairs, Wirt’s room- now a guest bedroom- felt lonely, but was a better fit for her mood than the budding friendship of Sara and Andrew. Gone was the twin bed from Wirt’s teen years. That was replaced with a queen not long after she’d married him, and at that moment it served as a place for her and Sara to sleep. Andrew stayed in Greg’s room, while Wirt’s parents stayed in theirs, and Marty took up residence in the garage.

Charlie greeted her as she walked in but then asked- _sad?_ when he saw her expression. Beatrice nodded and collapsed onto the bed. She didn’t cry anymore. After her meltdown over Wirt’s pictures, her tears had been replaced with a hard determination that sometimes fractured when she felt weak. Still, her face remained dry, because if she fell too far into despondency, escaping its grasp might become impossible. And who would that help? Not herself. Not Wirt. And definitely not their baby.

Beatrice was certain that with enough resolve, she would find her husband again. He wouldn’t be gone forever. There had to be a way to pull Wirt back into reality. When they were together, she was aware of his every breath, heartbeat, and emotional shift. That sensation of a breeze brushing across her skin still existed somewhere. His emotions had gone silent that night in the kitchen, but an echo of it still hummed inside of her if she concentrated hard enough. She’d use it to find Wirt and bring him back.

Charlie came to rest on her chest and she moved a finger along the top of his head. _I’m sorry_ , he chirped.

“Thanks,” Beatrice responded as the world disappearing behind her eyelids. In the dark, she focused. Reaching out to find Wirt, only a dried husk of a feeling emerged, but it was there nonetheless and heart clenching to experience. Fear. “Where are you?” she whispered, holding back a sob.

Outside, only an ominous howl from one of the creatures answered.


End file.
